


No Man's Land

by thenerdyindividual



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Balinor Lives (Merlin), Dragon Lord Merlin, Dragons, Exiled Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Falling In Love, Hurt Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, On the Run, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29070489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenerdyindividual/pseuds/thenerdyindividual
Summary: The Dragon Lords once lived and ruled happily in Camelot. That all changed after the Battle of Camelot. Now they live in the Wilds, No Man's Land, a place where clans and dragons rule. A routine errand to collect herbs for Gaius gets complicated when Merlin ends up saving the life of one of Camelot's best knights. Which begs the question; how and why would a knight from an enemy kingdom come to be in the middle of nowhere?
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 82
Kudos: 279
Collections: Anarchy and Nerdy Fill the Same Prompt





	1. Chapter 1

The air is crisp and clear, and Merlin pauses for a moment just to inhale the scent of it. Autumn is rolling in quickly, and it will be winter before long. The nights are already starting to get cold, but Merlin prefers it that way if he’s honest. The whole world sort of goes to sleep under the large drifts of snow, and it’s the few months out of the year when his magic doesn’t vibrate with the energy of every living thing in the wilds. In winter, Merlin feels like he is fully part of his own body instead of too much magic bound up in flesh and bone. 

He releases the breath he was holding and opens his eyes. The world around him has started to take on that grey sheen it gets when slowly but surely the plants start to die off in preparation for reseeding next year. The grass is less green, but not yet crunchy under foot. What few trees there are have also started to lose their leaves, bark losing some of the vibrancy it holds in spring and summer. This will be the thirteenth winter since his father left.

He shakes himself back into action and starts down the slope of the hill. He promised Gaius he would get these herbs, and he’s already put it off for several days. Though, to be fair, that wasn’t entirely his fault. He’d spent long days trying to sort out a dispute about a goat. The people have been coming to him more and more lately, and he isn’t terribly grateful for it. Especially when he has chores he’d much rather be procrastinating by convincing Will to go do something stupid with him. Herb gathering may be long tedious work, but Merlin would far rather do that then settle who owes which person how many chicken’s eggs. 

He reaches the bottom of the slope without slipping and falling, a miracle in itself since he’s already slipped twice since he set out, and removes the satchel from his shoulders. He stands knee deep in the herbs Gaius needs, a lucky break indeed considering the season for picking them is fast ending. He flips open the top flap of the satchel, and crouches down to get better hold of the stems. It’s better for the plant if the break is clean and in as few places as possible. He digs his knife out of his jacket pocket, and sets to work cutting. If he can fill the satchel today, there should be more than enough to get them through to the next season, even if there is an outbreak of sweating sickness. Gwaine’s next delivery should more than set them up for winter. 

The first stem comes off clean, and releases the earthy sent of freshly cut herbs into the air. When he did this as a child, he used to wrinkle his nose at that smell, but now it’s comforting. It grounds him, in a way, reminds him that he is an actual person, and not just playing pretend at it like so many people seem to think. 

He has the satchel about half full when he hears it. He stops what he’s doing and straightens up, tilting his head into the wind to be able to hear it better. It echoes faintly across the hills once more. Shouting. Merlin knows that there’s another group of their people who live up in the mountains, but they are even more isolationist than Merlin’s home. They wouldn’t travel this far away from their encampment, not even if there was an excellent hunt to be had. He remembers that they came to visit once when he was roughly ten years old, but it was an extenuating circumstance involving an injured healer and an outbreak of sweating sickness. Point is, something is wrong.

Merlin starts on the upward slope of the next hill, determined to get to the bottom of this. The further up he goes, the clearer the sounds get. There is shouting, maybe six voices. All of them seem to be calling out instructions of some kind, trying to warn their compatriots to stay out of reach. It is too small to be a hunting party for anything dangerous like a boar. There’s the clash of steel against steel, and a grunt of pain that is definitely human not animal.

“Nearly have him boys!” a voice calls out, sounding a little too smug for comfort. 

He picks up his pace and clear the top of the hill. Just a little ways away, before the hill starts to slope down again is a group of men. They’re dressed in leather and worn cloaks, but their weapons are of fine make. There are six of them and they stand in a semi-circle, swords and knives raised for attack. Backed up against the hillside is a man. It’s difficult to discern much about him from where Merlin is standing, but he seems broad, broader than the men he’s fighting. His hair is a light golden brown, but that could be from sweat. 

At first, Merlin considers not getting involved. It’s the way of their people, after all, not to get involved unless asked for help directly. But then the man shifts, swinging his own sword in graceful arc, and several things occur to Merlin at once. The first, the man’s clothes are far too well made for this to be a squabble among compatriots or even a group of bandits who have taken exception to being cheated out of their money. The second is that the man moves far too well with his sword; he’s had training and a lot of it. He must be a knight from one of the southern kingdoms. Why a knight from one of the southern kingdoms made his way this far north into No Man’s Land, is a mystery. What isn’t a mystery, is that the men hunting him are not knights, and if Merlin doesn’t interfere this knight is going to die.

He grips his knife harder in his hand, even though he knows it will do barely any damage. It’s better for them to think that the knife is his only line of defense, gives him the advantage. He crosses the hill in a few long strides, sleeves pushed up to his elbows even though his jacket hasn’t impeded the accuracy of his spell work since he was six.

“Hey now! That’s enough!” he shouts.

One of the men pauses in his taunting of the knight, apparently confident in his companions’ abilities to keep the knight from getting too far. He grins when he spots Merlin, and nudges the man next to him who is also just watching the proceedings in front of him with some vague amusement. The second man turns and grins in a way very similar to his friend’s. Merlin resists the urge to roll his eyes. All mercenaries have the same smile, it’s ridiculous. 

“Seems we have a friend.” The first man says with a nasal laugh. Merlin wonders if it’s because someone broke it, he’s certainly tempted to just to get the man to shut up.

“Let him go.” Merlin says firmly and jerks his chin towards the knight.

He is still fighting valiantly, but Merlin can see the fatigue starting to build. The knight’s grip isn’t as sure as it was before. His movements are growing sluggish, and he’s struggling to meet the blows rained down on him by the four men still attacking him, let alone getting his own shots in. 

The second man laughs as well, though with a distinctly less nasal quality, and shakes his head, “Why would we do that, eh?”

“Because if you don’t, I will make you let him go.” 

“With what,” the first man sneers, “that little dinner knife? It won’t even puncture the leather.”

It would actually, Merlin has worked so many spells into it that it always stays sharp. He isn’t going to need it though. He’ll barely need a flick of his wrist to get this over and done with, but he doesn’t like unnecessary bloodshed. He’ll give them one last chance, and then he’ll move.

He twirls his knife in his fingers, even though he knows it looks stupid instead of intimidating, and raises his eyebrows, “I’m stronger than I look.”

“Let’s just kill him to stop his yapping and get on with the job. The Lady Morgana is already angry that we’ve taken this long.” The second man says and takes a step forward.

Well, can’t say he didn’t warn them. 

Merlin flings out one hand and his magic flares out from him in a white hot wave. He can feel it like an echo in his own chest when it connects with the two men in front of him. They let out twin grunts of surprise and breathlessness, and they go flying off the side of the hill. It isn’t a particularly steep slope, but Merlin highly doubts they’ll survive both the impact and the tumble to the bottom. 

The other four men pauses in their onslaught against the knight, mouths hanging open comically in shock at the fate of their companions. The knight must have some fight still in him, because he drags himself into a steadier positon and runs one of the four men through from behind. It sparks the remaining three into action. Two of them come after Merlin, swords raised. With a jerk of his chin they meet the same fate as their companions.

Merlin turns to the knight then. He’s up still, and fighting for all he’s worth. Merlin doesn’t dare use any magic to help, worried that the constant shifting of the fight might end up putting the knight in his line of fire. The remaining man kicks out, catching the knight in the chest, and the knight lets out an audible whoosh of air and crumples to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. The remaining man raises his sword, ready to deal the killing blow, and Merlin reacts. He hurls his knife towards the man’s back, and with a whispered spell, it sails true. It lodges itself deep in the man’s back, and he drops his swords. He stands still for a moment, like his body hasn’t caught up to the fact that he’s been stabbed, then he too crumples to the ground. 

Merlin charges forward and drops to his knees next to the knight, pressing trembling fingers to his pulse point. There’s a heartbeat, frantic from the adrenaline and exertion, but a pulse nonetheless. The knight groans loudly and tries to push himself up on hands and knees, trembling with pain. 

“Easy. Easy.” Merlin murmurs and places a guiding hand on the knight’s shoulder to help him flop onto his back. 

As soon as the knight is turned over, he starts moving. He scrambles backwards away from Merlin, and manages to get his hand around the hilt of his sword and he brings it up between them like it’s any sort of protection when Merlin has just proven he doesn’t need to be within blade distance to cause damage. It probably makes him feel safer though.

His blue eyes are wide with panic and a little glossy. It’s then that he notices the wet patch blooming on the knight’s shirt. He was cut during the fight, and quite badly. If Merlin doesn’t get in there to treat it soon, the knight could end up dying from his wounds even after surviving the attack by the mercenaries. Merlin takes a shuffling step forward, but finds the cool tip of a sword pressed against his throat.

“Stay back.” The knight hisses, “I’ll run you through.”

Merlin holds his hands up in a placating gesture, “It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help.”

“Don’t come any closer.” The knight repeats, and manages to get his legs under him. When he tries to stand, he lets out a hiss of pain and sinks to one knee in the grass.

“You’ve been injured.” Merlin says calmly, trying to remember the lessons that Gaius gave him on bedside manner, “I don’t know why those men were after you, but they hurt you quite badly. If you don’t let me treat you, you could bleed out, especially if you keep moving around like a dollop head.”

The insult is what seems to do it, oddly enough. The knight stops struggling to get away, and blinks at Merlin with a confused little wrinkle in his brow. “Did you just insult me and offer me treatment in the same breath?”

Merlin finds himself grinning a little in response, “It’s one of my many talents. Now come on, let me treat your wound. You can even keep me at knife point the whole time if it makes you feel better.”

“Like that would do any good.” The knight says tiredly and jerks his chin in the direction of the downed mercenaries, “Go on then.”

Merlin steps forward once more, and peels up the knight’s tunic to get a look at the wound underneath. It isn’t deep, thank the gods. Merlin has only seen a stomach wound once, and he has no desire to ever see one again if he can possibly help it. That’s where the good news end. The wound is long. It is a bloody slash across the knight’s stomach, and it is bleeding profusely. He was right when he thought that without treatment, the knight would be in a lot of trouble. He needs to get them both back to Gaius and quick. The knight needs stitches before he bleeds out.

“I’m Merlin.” Merlin says conversationally as he removes his neckerchief.

“I’m… Leon.” The knight says with a little hesitation and the scowls abruptly, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m going to use your belt to bind the wound so you don’t bleed out on the way to see our physician.” Merlin says and bats away the hands that are trying fighting him for purchase on Leon’s belt, “What were you thinking going on quest without chainmail anyway, Sir Leon?”

Leon stops struggling and Merlin remove his belt with victorious little huff. “How did you know I was a knight?” Leon asks softly.

“Your clothes are too nice to be a mercenary, and you fight too well.” Merlin answers as he folds up his neckerchief.

“I had to make a hasty exit from Camelot.” Leon says, answering Merlin’s initial question.

Merlin hesitates for a second time. A Knight of Camelot. They are practically the sworn enemy of his people, ever since his father was chased from it in the dead of night. They have more or less declared hostility towards Camelot, and have held that hostility for as long as Merlin can remember. No one would blame him for leaving the idiot to die here on the hill side. Only, Merlin doesn’t really want to. This Sir Leon is roughly the same age as him, far too young to have fought in the battle that drove his people from Camelot. He is not responsible for his king’s actions, and Merlin’s given his word that he means no harm. His word is far more important than a grudge between two factions of people.

“This is going to hurt.” Merlin warns, and presses his neckerchief to the wound.

Leon squeezes his eyes shut tight and grits his teeth against the pain. Sweat breaks out on his forehead for his efforts. Bloody warriors and their need to be the toughest in the room.

While Leon is still tensed from pain, Merlin goes for the belt. It will keep the pressure of the wound more easily than Merlin can with his hands, especially with how they will be travelling. He tightens the belt as far as he can without restricting Leon’s breathing, and Leon is trembling and pale by the time he finishes. Merlin just hopes that he doesn’t die of shock before they can reach Gaius. He is still far too sweaty and pale for Merlin’s liking. It would be just his luck to go through all this trouble and end up losing Leon anyway.

Merlin watches carefully. He doesn’t want to use a healing spell if he can help it. They’re notoriously tricky, and don’t always work. Gaius’s theory is that healing spells only work if the person’s destiny is to be healed in that moment, and Merlin has always thought that was yet another thing about destiny that was unnecessarily cruel. Why even give people the hope of the person surviving just to snatch the life away at the last second? 

There have been attempts at healing magic that have gone wrong as well. If it isn’t perfectly done, it can lead to all sorts of complications, and Merlin doesn’t trust himself to be able to recite a healing spell accurately at the moment. His hands are shaking from adrenaline, and he’s terrified that Leon may bleed out at any moment. He will use a healing spell if he has to, but he would much rather get him to Gaius.

The belt and neckerchief combo seems to hold. No blood oozes from underneath, nor does it well up to stain the outside of the cloth. It isn’t a permanent solution, but it seems for now Leon is safe.

Satisfied that Leon isn’t going to bleed to death, Merlin tilts his head to the sky and calls, “O drakon!”

Next to him on the ground, Leon flinches. His eyes go wide again and he shifts nervously, reaching once more for his sword. “Merlin,” he says hesitantly.

Merlin turns to him and raises his eyebrows, “Yes?”

“Where did I end up?”

“The place where dragons roam.” Merlin says with a bit of a grin as he hears the telltale rushes or air that means Kilgharrah has heard and is coming to his aid, “Welcome to No Man’s Land, Sir Leon.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Is he going to be alright Gaius?” Merlin asks, hovering anxiously a few paces from Leon’s bed.

Leon had passed out shortly after Kilgharrah landed, blood loss and adrenaline crash finally catching up with him. It made loading him onto Kilgharrah’s back a difficult task, but Merlin didn’t want to risk flying him in Kilgharrah’s claws. Any wrong pressure on the wound and things could get infinitely worse for him. 

When they finally landed, Merlin had shoved his shoulder under Leon’s arm and dragged him into camp. The fact no one seemed to panic when seeing Merlin return home covered in blood and dragging an unconscious man with him probably says something about the way they live their lives. At some point someone had run to get Gaius, and now they’re here. It isn’t the first time his tent has been used for a sick tenet, and it probably won’t be the last, and Merlin resigns himself to sharing a tent with Will until Leon is well enough to be shipped off to be tent mates with someone else.

Gaius steps back, fixing Merlin with solemn eyes, “If he makes it through the night, then he will survive this.”

“That doesn’t sound promising.”

“He lost a lot of blood, Merlin. He is clearly a strong young man, but even strong men in the peak of health can be taken down by blood loss or infection, All we can do is hope that you and I have done enough to save him,”

“Thank you, Gaius.”

Gaius smiles gently and uses the back of his hand to pat Merlin on the shoulder so as not to smear any of Leon’s blood on it, “Someone should stay with him through the night. Just in case something changes, I need to be alerted immediately.”

Merlin glances at Leon, looking much smaller than he did fighting for his life on the hills. He’s already saved Leon once, may as well take responsibility for it. “I’ll watch him.”

“Are you sure?” Gaius asks anxiously, “You used a good deal of magic today, my boy. You could use some rest yourself.”

“I’m fine Gaius.” Merlin promises but Gaius looks unconvinced, “I am! You’ve seen me when I use too much magic. Either I crash out cold on the nearest flat surface or I ended up giggling hysterically over nothing and talking rubbish. I’m not doing either of those things.”

“Let an old man worry.”

“Would it make you feel better if you stayed for a few hours so I could take a nap?”

Gaius shakes his head and starts rinsing the blood off his hands with the pitcher of water someone brought shortly after the stretched Leon on Merlin’s bed, “No. I suppose I have to stop treating you as a child at some point. If you start to feel tired, fetch someone else to take watch. He may not need constant vigilance, but I still don’t like the idea of you fading off and leaving him on his own.”

“I promise I won’t fall asleep. Leon is in good hands.”

Gaius nods, and packs up his supplies. Merlin would help, but last time he did Gaius complained for an entire day that Merlin did it wrong. He isn’t eager to listen to that rant again. 

“I think I left your herbs with Kilgharrah.” Merlin says, remembering the reason he was out in the hills to begin with, “If they’re not with him then they’re probably still sitting in my bag on the hills, sorry.”

“It’s alright. This once you had a legitimate excuse for your lack of follow through.”

“It’s not my fault that people have decided that I’m the one they need to come to for every little problem.”

Gaius slings his medicine bag over his shoulder and gazes at Merlin with The Eyebrow, “They are trying to get you accustomed for when the time comes.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, “If the time comes. I actually have to agree to participate, you know.”

Gaius sighs, mutters under his breath about the folly of youth, and then trudges out of Merlin’s tent. Once he’s gone, Merlin crosses over to the trunk sitting in one corner of his tent, and drags it across the floor. He positions it next to the bed and plops down on top of it in order to keep an eye on Leon. This close, Merlin can see the worry lines carved deep into his face. Some of it may be due to pain from his wound as well, but clearly Leon is troubled.

“I would really prefer it if you didn’t die.” Merlin says conversationally, “I went through all the trouble of ruining my favorite neckerchief to keep that very thing from happening, so the least you could do is survive.”

He gets no response from Leon, but he didn’t really expect one. Merlin sighs and almost drags a hand through his hair like he usually does when he’s stressed, but stops at the last second. He is still smeared quite liberally with Leon’s blood. Having no desire to get Leon’s blood matted in his hair, he drops his hand. Then he decides he should probably change his clothes too. The last thing he needs is Leon waking up and, in his disorientation, deciding Merlin is a murder or an assassin or something and attacking him.

He washes his hands, digs some fresh clothes out of his trunk, and changes right there next to Leon. This too would be an awkward time for Leon to wake, but he seems dead to the world and Merlin can’t be bothered to cross to the other side of the tent right now. He sets the dirty clothes outside. Normally he would just take them down to river to soak himself, but he’s been given strict instructions from Gaius to watch over Leon or else. The others will understand that and hopefully take care of Merlin’s bloody clothing for him.

Despite his promises to Gaius, he finds himself drifting off around dawn. The trunk did its job most of the night, being too uncomfortable to sleep on. A buckle dug unto the back of Merlin’s knee all evening, and he had to be careful how shifted his weight or risk snagging his trousers on a nail that needs to be tapped back into place. Even with all that, the exhaustion starts to catch up with him. 

His eyes grow heavy, and he struggles to keep them open. Each time they slip shut, they stay closed longer. Blearily, Merlin thinks he should go wake Gaius or someone else to keep an eye on Leon, but the ability to get up and do it seems far away and hazy. Faintly, he smells the beginnings of a cooking fire roaring to life. Must be later than he thought, if they’re making breakfast. 

A grunt breaks the silence of the tent, and Merlin startles awake, nearly falling off the trunk. There’s another little sound, and Merlin turns to look at the bed. The good news is that Leon is sitting up. The bad news is that Leon is also attempting to get out of bed when his wound has not yet begun to heal. Merlin is on his feet in a moment, bracing his hands on Leon’s shoulders to keep him from going anywhere.

“Woah.” Merlin says soothingly, “Where are you going? You’re hurt.”

Leon looks at him, wild eyed and worried, “I was travelling with a friend. Is she alright?”

Merlin tries not to grimace, “There wasn’t anyone with you when I came across you. It was just you and some mercenaries.”

Leon curses loudly and struggles to stand. If he were at his full strength, Merlin has no doubts that Leon could just knock his hands away and go charging into danger. The fact that Leon is struggling is proof enough that he isn’t ready to go on a rescue mission. 

“You’re hurt.” Merlin says firmly, “If you go charging out right now, you’ll die. You won’t do your friend any good if you’re dead.”

“Then send some of your people to find her, please.” Leon begs, “She can handle a sword, but she isn’t a knight or a soldier. She won’t be a match against anyone except a bandit.”

“Look, I’ll ask the dragons to keep an eye out for her while they’re hunting. What’s her name?”

“Guinevere. She comes up to about my shoulder, curly hair.” Leon says like he’s trying to get the description out before he forgets.

Merlin eases him back down on the mattress, “I’ll let them know. You hungry?”

“What?”

“Are you hungry? It smells like they’ve started cooking breakfast and I’m sure Gaius would want you to eat something. Healing takes a lot of energy.”

Leon stares at Merlin blankly for a moment, then nods. Merlin grins at him, trying to be a calming presence, and straightens properly. His back cracks in protest after being hunched up on the trunk for so long, but he stretches for a moment and he stops feeling like he’s going to spend the day walking like Gaius. Leon’s eyes track the movement, and Merlin wonders if that’s his way of scanning Merlin for weaponry of some kind. Unless he can see down to Merlin’s blood, his magic, he won’t find anything. Merlin is a weapon in and of himself.

He pushes his way out of his tent, and a few people glance up curiously from their breakfasts. Merlin grins at them like he always does, breath steaming in the chilly air, and makes for the fire that’s least crowded. He doesn’t have answers to any of the questions people are going to want to ask him, and it is too early in the day for him to fend off nosy neighbors. He snags two bowls of porridge, some of the dried meat, and freshly filled flask of water. He gets an eyebrow from Audrey at this, but he ignores her and keeps his head down as he hurries back across to his tent. 

When he enters, Leon is still sitting, but at least this time he is propped up against the pillows and doesn’t look like he’s trying to go anywhere. Merlin takes his place on the trunk once more, and hands the food over. Leon takes it hesitantly, and just cradles it in his hands.

“I would hardly go through all the trouble of keeping you from bleeding to death only to poison you once you’re okay.” Merlin points out, but takes a bite out of both their bowls to indicate he hasn’t actually poisoned it.

Leon smiles ruefully, exposing slightly crooked front teeth, and takes a few bits of porridge. Clearly he is no stranger to recovering from injury. He eats slowly, but steadily, not giving into his body’s need for food as fast as possible. Merlin is grateful because he really wouldn’t want to deal with trying to clean sick out of his sheets. 

“There appears to be a whole civilization right outside this tent. I thought the Dragon Lords and their dragons both were dwindled in number to the point of near extinction.” Leon says and starts to nibble on the dried meat.

Merlin snorts and finds himself smiling a little, “Do you really think we would let our enemy know our true number? It’s far easier to live in peace if no one thinks you’re worth bothering with.”

“With just your dragon you could wipe out the whole of Camelot, surely there’s a reason you don’t.”

“We aren’t interested in war. We will defend ourselves if need be, but we’ve made a home here in No Man’s Land, the hills, the wilds, whatever you like to call it.”

“Very pragmatic.” 

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be as blood thirsty as the King of Camelot can we?”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

“There’s still some water in the pitcher if you want to wipe down.” Merlin suggests, changing the subject to something lighter, “No offense, but you smell awful.”

Leon lets out a soft chuckle, but sets aside his half eaten bowl of porridge in favor of the rag and wash water. Merlin sits quietly and eats his breakfast. Leon can’t have been on the run long, that or he’s very good at hunting and gathering. His torso is still thick with muscle, and his cheeks lack any of the gauntness that comes from several days without proper food. It takes at least a week on foot to get from Camelot to the wilds, and that isn’t even accounting for having to hide from mercenaries out for your blood.

“Why are you helping me?” Leon asks eventually as he picks up his bowl of porridge once more, “Camelot has been no friend to the Dragon Lords.”

Merlin shrugs, “No knight of Camelot is stupid to come charging in here alone, or alone except for one friend who isn’t trained properly in combat. Not without a very good reason, anyway, and I want to know what that reason is.”

Leon nods, solemn once more. Merlin was right about Leon being blond, it glows almost golden in the sunlight filtering in through the gap in the tent flaps. It won’t be long before they have to start lighting fires in the tents to keep everyone warm enough. Hopefully Leon can survive the cold.

Just as it seems Leon is going to give in and explain the whole story, the flap of Merlin’s tent pushes open and Fisher pokes his head inside with an apologetic grimace, “Sorry, Merlin, but there’s an argument you need to sort.”

“Why can’t Will or Freya do it?” Merlin whines, already getting to his feet.

“It’s Old Man Simmons. You know how he is about authority, won’t accept either of them until they get appointed.” Fisher answers and ducks back out.

Merlin rolls his eyes at Leon and stands, “Sit tight. Gaius should be in any moment to tend to your wound.”

“I don’t believe I have to listen to your orders. You aren’t my king.” Leon says, but there’s a glint in his eye that shows he’s teasing.

“No, but if you don’t listen to me, you’ll be stuck with one of Gaius’s lectures. Me telling you to sit tight is so your ears don’t fall off from endless droning about the importance of good rest.”

Leon snorts to himself and starts in on what’s left of his porridge. Satisfied that Leon isn’t going to do something spectacularly stupid like go charging after this mysterious Guinevere himself, Merlin steps back outside. He and Fisher walk in silence between the tents until they reach Old Man Simmons. He is as ill-tempered as ever, huddled into his sheepskin coat and glaring at everyone who gets close. He’s never liked Merlin, but Merlin is still his father’s son and therefore makes him the only one worth listening to on matters.

“What’s the problem?” Merlin asks once he’s in earshot.

Old Man Simmons straightens to his full height, which ends at about Merlin’s chest, and gestures at his tent, “That Mary has no control over her dragons. They’ve been in there since early this morning, eating me out of house and home.”

Merlin often feels like braining himself with a particularly heavy rock when he listens to Old Man Simmons, but today the urge is even stronger. He has a Knight of Camelot recuperating in his tent, and he’s been called out to deal with Mary’s dragons. Apparently, Old Man Simmons has forgotten that he too has some ability to coerce dragons into doing what he likes. He may not have enough ability to control Kilgharrah, but he has enough to control the little green ones that have attached themselves to Mary.

He tells Old Man Simmons as much.

“I want compensation!” Old Man Simmons shouts, “They have eaten at least a third of my stores for winter, and I needed proof to show otherwise Mary can just get out of paying.”

“Did at any point occur to you,” Merlin says tiredly, “that you could just tell the dragons to wait outside and wait until I could come assess the damage?”

Old Man Simmons scowls at him, and Merlin mentally throws his hands in the air. He ducks through the flaps of Old Man Simmons tent, and finds Mary’s two green dragons curled up in front of the fire place. The tent is a mess, food stores scattered across the floor, and both dragons have nice round bellies. Merlin is not looking forward to dealing with working out compensation between Old Man Simmons and Mary. The two of them hated each other even when they were still in Camelot.

Merlin clicks his tongue and the dragons startle awake, “Out with you. Go home.”

The dragons shift guiltily in front of him, then trot sluggishly out of the tent. With a wave of his hand, what few stores can be saved zoom back into their respective pots and jars. Any jars or pots that were broken mend themselves, and hop back onto their shelves. At least Old Man Simmons won’t pitch a fit over the state of his tent now. Funny how yesterday he wielded the magic at his fingertips to save someone’s life, and today he uses it clean up little messes.

Merlin does not get a chance to go check in on Leon that day. He spends the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon trying to settle matters with Old Man Simmons. When Mary first head her dragons went on a binge eating raid, she had been horrified and immediately offered up some of her own stores as compensation. The moment she found out it was Old Man Simmons, she dugs her heels in and started ranting about some payment he owed her from way back in. 

Merlin is exhausted by the time he collapses next to Will and Freya for dinner. Will’s dragon, always more playful with Merlin because of his friendship with Will, leans off of Will’s shoulder to attempt to get at Merlin’s stew. Merlin taps it on the nose when it gets too close, and it retreats, grumbling under his breath about stingy Dragon Lords. Freya’s dragon, the smallest of any of the ones in camp, resembling more of a little snake than any actual dragon is curled up dozing in the fire.

“So,” Will says, not giving Merlin a moment to collect his thoughts, “want to tell us what’s going on with that bloke in your tent?”

“There’s nothing to tell.” Merlin says gruffly.

Freya leans around Will, darks eyes bright with curiosity, “He didn’t seem like the usual strays we take in. He seemed strong.”

“All I know is he was a knight form down south, and that he was fleeing mercenaries.” Merlin answers, but they both give him skeptical looks, “I’m serious. You know I’m a terrible liar.”

“I suppose that’s fair.” Will says graciously, “What are you going to do about him?”

“I don’t know!” Merlin says indignantly, “Let’s just start with getting him healed. We don’t get southern knights in the wilds very often. He must have a good reason for being here.”

“Are you going to tell us when you find out what it is?”

“I tell you everything.”

“Will,” Freya says, swooping in like an angel to end the questioning, “let him rest Gaius said he was up all night keeping an eye on our guest. Then he had to try to settle an argument between Mary and Old Man Simmons.”

Will grimaces and claps Merlin on the shoulder, “Sorry. Didn’t know.”

Merlin waves his hand, “It’s fine. You can make it up to me by letting me crash in your tent tonight.”

“No! You’re a cuddler!” Will groans dramatically, and it sends Freya into a fit of giggles.

*

“He said her name was Guinevere.” Merlin explains to the disapproving Kilgharrah, “Dark curly hair, about yay high.”

“Despite what you might think, Merlin,” Kilgharrah says archly, “the dragons are not actually your personal messengers.”

“Killy.” Merlin whines, sounding like a petulant child even to his own ears. He can’t imagine what he must sound like to an ancient dragon. 

“You know I detest that nickname.”

“I’ll keep using it if you don’t spread the word.”

“Why not just order me?”

“Because then you get irritated with me and won’t answer my calls for at least a week after.” Merlin answers, “Please, just do this one thing. He is worried about her, and if he goes charging after her right now, he’ll die from exposure or infection or something else equally idiotic.”

Kilgharrah tilts that massive head of his, regarding Merlin in a way that always makes him uncomfortable, “You seem to care a great deal about this Knight of Camelot. Are you forgetting that those knights drove you from your home?”

“I’m not forgetting, I just don’t think it’s relevant. Sir Leon is too young to have participated in the war, he can only be a handful of years older than me. If he came here, it’s for a reason, and I want to find out.”

“Your father would not have done the same.”

“Well I’m not my father,” Merlin snaps, “and he hasn’t been here to make decisions for our people for a very long time. So just do it.”

“Very well, Young Warlock, I will let my kin know to look out for a human woman named Guinevere.”

“Thank you.”

*

Merlin nudges Will’s dragon out of the way, and collapses face first into Will’s bed. He is fast asleep before Will even has time to grunt in acknowledgement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoying this? Come visit me on [tumblr](https://thenerdyindividual.tumblr.com/)! I do more creative stuff besides writing over there too.


	3. Chapter 3

Frost crunches under Merlin’s boots as he steps out of Will’s tent. His breath fogs in the air, white clouds puffing out of him like smoke from a dragon. It’s early enough in the day that not many people are about. A few of the smaller dragons, the ones roughly the size of a fox hunting dog, come swooping into camp and drop a few rabbits by the fire to be skinned, then zoom off again to devour their own rabbits the way they enjoy. Their scales glint blue, white, and pink in the weak morning light, and the sound of their snapping at each other is enough to startle a nearby goat.

Merlin wrinkles his nose. He knows how to skin and clean any number of pray, but it has always touched a visceral part of him. He’s dealt with enough wounds and blood under Gaius’s tutelage that they don’t’ bother him much anymore, but there is a difference between patching up a wound or cleaning blood out of fabric, and removing skin and organs from something. Will still hasn’t let him live that down, but Merlin supposes that is Will’s job as the closest thing to a brother he has ever had.

He crosses the camp to his tent, and ducks inside. He finds Leon sitting up in bed with Gaius hunched over him, examining his wound. Leon looks a little better today. He isn’t quite so pale from the blood loss, and the stew must have done him some good because he doesn’t look quite as harried either.

The inside of the ten is warm, but Merlin leaves his jacket on. The breeze still flutters through the unfastened tent flap, and makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The air inside smells herbaceous and medicinal, and Merlin realizes Gaius must have been using his special salve on Leon. The air is tinged with the particular hum of healing magic. His suspicions are confirmed when Gaius straightens up, and Merlin spots a jar in one hand, and fresh bandages around Leon’s torso.

“How is he, Gaius?” Merlin asks, stopping a few paces away so that Leon doesn’t feel crowded.

From the bed, Leon squints at Merlin disapprovingly, “I am right here, and I am neither deaf nor dumb. You could ask me.”

Merlin snorts, and smiles a little at Leon, “You’re a warrior.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I have known several warriors over the years, and you always lie about how you are so that you can get out there and keep fighting.” Merlin answers and looks over at Gaius again, “How is he, really?”

Gaius raises a disapproving eyebrow at their antics, but says, “I wouldn’t recommend he swing any swords for at least two days, but other than a nasty scar, he will live.”

Merlin lets out a little huff of relief. He had a feeling that Gaius’s advice –is Leon makes it through the night, he will live—was sound. It always has been before. However, there was still a small part of him that was scared. He worried that despite the desperate flight and the improvised compress, and Gaius’s use of healing magic, Leon would still succumb to infection or something equally as nasty.

“Thank you, Gaius.” Merlin says, and means it with all his heart. He feels strangely responsible for Leon’s wellbeing, even if no would could reasonably expect him to be.

“Stay in bed. You are healing nicely, but it is important that you don’t cause any additional injury by moving too soon.” Gaius says sternly, and slings his medical satchel over his shoulder with his usual unerring accuracy, “You have my permission to sit on him if he tries to move.” This last bit is directed at Merlin.

“Of course.” Merlin promises with a grin, “I swear it.”

“I will be back this afternoon to do another check.” Gaius says, then finally exits the tent.

Merlin hovers awkwardly by the end of the bed, not quote meeting Leon’s eyes. It felt easier to talk to him yesterday, when he was weaker and still a bit confused. Now, he watches Merlin with sharp, assessing eyes, like he’s a puzzle to be solved. 

“I would listen to Gaius,” Merlin says at last as a way to break the silence, “a friend of mine tried to against his orders once, and found himself tied to the bedpost the next morning.”

“You’re their leader.” Leon says, not taking the bait to hear a funny story about Will.

Merlin looks up, meeting Leon’s gaze properly, and shrugs, “Sort of. I’m the son of the leader so my words have weight, but I won’t be heir by default.”

Leon frowns, and tries to shift higher up on the pillows supporting him. He winces when the movement places strain on his wound, and Merlin reaches out instinctively to help support. Leon’s chilled against Merlin’s fingers and he makes a mental note to track down some warmer clothes for him. He and Will might be of roughly the same size. When Leon has settled more comfortably, he goes back to staring at Merlin with an uncomprehending frown.

“Explain.”

“Could say please.” Merlin points out, and sits on the trunk he used as a seat the night he watched over Leon.

Leon rolls his eyes, “Please explain.”

“My father is the current High Dragon Lord.”

“Like a king?”

“Not unlike a king I suppose.” Merlin agrees, “He is our current leader, but he didn’t get there because of my grandfather or grandmother. I never even met them. He got there because he was the strongest of us.”

“The strongest? So you host a melee to determine who your leader should be?” Leon’s face has taken on a slightly superior look.

“Don’t be a prat.” Merlin snaps, and Leon gapes at him like he’s never been spoken to that way before, “Whoever is High Dragon Lord needs to be able to command the most dragons out of anyone in our clan. The older and more powerful the dragon, the easier it is for them to resist orders from a dragon lord. Generally, the leader is picked from three of the families because the power is passed down from parent to child, but there is always a chance that someone else in the clan will turn out to be the most powerful.”

“And you aren’t worried about losing your throne?”

Merlin shrugs, “I don’t really care if I have it. I care that we are able to keep dragons from getting ideas into their heads. They aren’t as vicious as stories like to make them out to be, but they are easily bored and like to cause trouble.”

Leon stares at Merlin, face creased in though as he mulls all this over. Finally, he lets out a long breath of air between pursed lips, and lets his head fall back against the pillows, “I have found myself in a very strange place.”

Absurdly, that draws a huff of laughter out of Merlin. Leave it to a knight of Camelot to stumble in somewhere he isn’t welcome, insult their practices, and then be the one exasperated by it. Leon is truly the most ridiculous person Merlin has ever met.

“I know it is very different from Camelot, but we believe that we should be led by someone who both wants to lead us, and has the best ability to do so.”

“I can see the logic in that, even if it wasn’t how I was raised.” Leon shifts his head to look at Merlin, amusement replaced by worry, “My friend, Guinevere, has there been any word?”

“Not yet.”

“I have to go after her. I don’t know how many rations she had when we were separated, or if she got hurt in the fight.” Leon says, and tries to swing out of bed. Stubborn idiot. It is like repeat of yesterday morning all over again.

Merlin dives forward, pressing his hands down on Leon’s shoulders, “Will you stop trying to go charging after your friend? Gaius wasn’t kidding about me sitting on you.”

“She was relying on me to keep her safe.” Leon insists stubbornly, “The healing magic has patched me up enough.”

“No it hasn’t. Sit down.”

Leon collapses onto the bed once more with an exasperated huff.

“I have the dragons keeping an eye out for her. If she is found, I will be the first to know.” Merlin promises, gazing into Leon’s dark worried eyes, “I swear, as soon as Gaius gives you permission, you and I can take horses and go in hunt of Guinevere. Assuming she hasn’t been spotted by then.”

Leon gives up fighting Merlin at that point, and sags against the pillows. Just the brief struggle to try to fight Merlin off was enough to have him break out in sweat. Merlin straightens up, and pours Leon some water from the nearby pitcher. He drinks it in slow sips, trying to get his breath back.

A chill wind whips through the encampment, making the walls of the tent flex under the strain. The entry flap, not fastened so as to allow Merlin and Gaius an easier access to the tent, flips up with the force of it. Some of the chill pervades the warm air, and Leon shudders.

“Cold?”

“I’ll get used to it.” Is the stubborn reply.

Merlin rolls his eyes, fishes another blanket out from the trunk and spreads it across Leon’s trembling form. He raises an eyebrow at the sigh of relief that Leon admits, and Leon scowls at him. Merlin wanders over to the entry flap and ties it down how he normally would if he was trying to keep warm. The last thing he needs is Leon getting sick because he got too cold. He isn’t sure how easy pneumonia I to catch, but given Leon’s recent luck with his health, Merlin isn’t going to risk it. 

He returns to the trunk, sheds his jacket now that he doesn’t have the wind to contend with, and settles down once more. He takes Leon’ cup when he finishes the water, and sets it off to the side. 

“Are you up to telling me how you got here?” Merlin asks.

Leon drags a hand through his hair, and grimaces. Merlin isn’t sure if he is grimacing because of the harrowing tale he is about to tell, or the state of his hair. It is unwashed and greasy. Dried sweat still clings to it, and much of the golden hue is hidden because of a thin layer of what must have been mud but has now dried to dirt. Leon looks at his hand as he releases his hair, and makes a face not unlike the one Merlin made on his way over when he pondered skinning animals.

It was about the hair, then. Merlin adds finding Leon a warm bath to his growing list of things to do.

“King Uther is dead.” Leon says at last.

Merlin reels back, blinking like he’s been slapped. That was not how he was expecting this conversation to go. He had kept a running list of reasons Leon could have ended up here, and the death of King Uther, bane of the Dragon Lords, never once made it onto that list. Frankly, he thought Uther was too cruel and greedy to ever die. He always struck Merlin as one of those fairy tale kings who would live eternally until the curse on the land was broken.

“I…” Merlin splutters, trying to think of something to say, “What happened?”

Leon sighs, and worried wrinkles appear around his eyes, as though he’s trying to hide just how cut up inside he is about all of this and failing miserably, “There was a coup.”

It’s Merlin’s turn to wait for an explanation that does not appear to be forthcoming. He tilts his head, frowning with confusion. “Right?”

“King Uther…” Leon starts, stops, considers his words, “I always thought him a good king, if a flawed man. It turns out, that when he was fighting your people, he had an affair. Lady Morgana, is actually Prince Arthur’s half-sister. His _older_ half-sister.”

“Giving her a claim to the throne.” Merlin realizes.

Leon presses his lips together in a despondent line, “She was very vocal about disapproving of the way King Uther ran his kingdom, especially his treatment of magic and anything like it, but none of us thought… She has magic, a great deal of it. When she learned of her heritage, she stormed Camelot with an army, killed King Uther, and took the throne for herself.”

“What happened to Prince Arthur?”

“He escaped, or I think he did. He isn’t in the dungeons any longer in any case.”

“How did that lead to you ending up here?”

“Anyone who remained loyal to Uther or Arthur were locked up, pending execution. Guinevere was Lady Morgana’s maid. She managed to gain Morgana’s trust, and smuggle a key to the cells. We escaped with as many people as we could, but we lost track of most of them within the first night. Lady Morgana must have… her men found Guinevere and I on our way here. That was shortly before you found me.”

“But why come this direction at all?” Merlin asks, bracing his elbows on his knees, “Why not go to any ally like Nemeth?”

“That would have been the first place they looked for any of us.” Leon says helplessly, “I thought this would be the last place she would ever look for a knight of Camelot.”

They fall into silence. The only noise that can be heard is the hum of activity outside the tent, distant and muted through the thick fabric walls. Leon has had a hell of an ordeal, and so has this Guinevere, wherever she is. Merlin may not know her, but he has a feeling in his gut that she is safe and sound. If she was clever enough to steal a key from a powerful sorceress, she is clever enough to survive in the wild, at least for a time.

“I’m sorry.” Merlin says into the oppressive silence.

Leon scowls again, like he’s trying to rid himself of Merlin with nothing but a bad attitude, “What would you care? King Uther was your enemy.”

“I can’t say I’m sorry he’s dead,” Merlin agrees, “but I am sorry for the pain you went through. Your world just crumbled out from under you, and no one deserves that.”

“You are strangely kind for a sworn enemy of Camelot.” Leon remarks, scowl softening a little.

Merlin grins, “Well, once you’re feeling better, I could send a pack of dragons to chase you down if that would make you feel more at home.”

Leon lets out a bark of surprised laughter. It lights up his face, makes it lose some of the despair that has been clouding it since he arrived in the wilds. Merlin finds himself chuckling a little in solidarity. The mental image of Leon being chased down by Mary’s food stealing dragons is something that should bring Merlin joy for the rest of the day.

“I suppose I should thank you.” Leon says, still smiling a little.

“For what?”

“For stepping in during the fight, for not leaving me to bleed out when you found out which house I came from, for the hospitality you’ve shown me since I arrived.”

Merlin bats at the air with a hand, trying to wipe Leon’s thanks from it, “You hadn’t done anything to me personally, and you are too young to have participated in the war against the dragons. It wasn’t right to leave you there.”

“Not many would see it that way.”

“You’re lucky you found me.” Merlin quips.

Leon regards him again with that same assessing gaze from before, “I think I was. Perhaps my only lucky break in this whole mess.”

Merlin ducks his head, feeling awkward. He isn’t used to people noticing his acts of kindness. Even to Will and Freya they go largely unnoticed, and he prefers it that way. Too many and people would start getting it into their heads to make him High Dragon Lord. The appreciation is nice, but he has no idea what to do with it.

“Would you like a bath?” is what he settles on in the end.

“Are you implying that I smell?” Leon asks, arms wide and face screwing up with indignation.

“Sorry, but you do.” Merlin admits as he tries to hide how funny he finds Leon’s distress, “You haven’t had a bath since before you left Camelot, you spent a great deal of time running through the woods, you had a fight, and a near death experience. You reek.”

“Your bedside manner is appalling.”

“Terribly sorry, your highness, I will strive to improve my service.” Merlin says sarcastically, expecting to draw another one of those little snorts from Leon. Instead, Leon flinches like he’s been struck, and it makes Merlin’s veins run ice cold. He never meant to remind Leon of his misfortune, especially not when it seems like the two of them might get on. “Sorry. Jokes about nobility are probably off the table at the moment, considering.”

Leon shakes his head, “It’s fine. You weren’t to know.”

“Alright. Bath?”

“That would be appreciated.”

Merlin gets to his feet, and tugs his jacket back on in order to face the cold, “Be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Leon asks, sounding genuinely confused.

Merlin pauses with one hand on the tie to the flap, “To get you a bath?”

“Don’t you have servants to do that kind of thing?”

Merlin grins over his shoulder at Leon, still shivering a little under the pile of blankets, “This is the wilds, Leon. We work together for the good of our clan, but if you want something done for yourself, you do it yourself. I’ll be right back.”

With that he steps out of the tent and back into the cold morning air.


	4. Chapter 4

Just the very top of Leon’s head pokes out of the top of the pile of blankets when Merlin enters. It glints gold in the firelight, looking much better now that he’s had a chance to wash properly. He seems so cozy and peaceful, lying there, finally not shivering for the first time in days. Gaius said that between the blood loss and the onset of the cold season, Leon would probably be rather chilly for a time. The bath yesterday must have done more than just clean him up. Merlin knows what it’s like to finally get in a warm bath after days in the cold, and it makes him reluctant to wake Leon, but physician’s orders are physician’s orders.

Deciding that leaning over Leon and shaking him awake feels a little too personal given they have only known each other a few days, Merlin takes an alternate course of action. He tosses the pile of clothes he’s carrying onto the cot, and it lands on Leon’s head with a heavy flop. Leon startles awake, trying to bat away the clothes from his face, and failing in his confusion. 

Merlin smothers a laugh, and says cheerily, “Good morning, Sir Leon?”

Leon succeeds in shoving the excess fabric from his face, and blinks at Merlin with wide confused eyes, “Merlin?”

“Gaius says you’re well enough now to get up and walk around.” Merlin relays the information, “You’re not to strain yourself too much, but you’ve reached the point where lying around will hinder healing instead of helping.”

Leon blinks at him again, sleep still clinging to the edges of his features. His hair is sticking up in places, and his eyes are still slightly unfocused. Then he registers what Merlin said.

“Oh thank god.” He says, sitting bolt upright. He tugs Will’s spare tunic over his head, and swings out of bed to tug on the trousers as well, “I thought I was going to go mad.”

“Would any of us have noticed the difference?” Merlin teases and hands Leon a fur lined jacket.

Leon tugs it on, and then sits on the edge of his bed to cram his feet into his boots, “They may have mistaken me for you.”

Merlin huffs a laugh, and crosses his arms as he leans against one of the tent supports to watch Leon dress. His movements aren’t exactly graceful, but they are quick and efficient. He must be used to getting dressed at moment’s notice when facing down invaders or assassination attempts. There is no time for a display when someone’s life is in your hands. Merlin is just relieved that Gaius’s salve worked well enough that Leon has been able to do away with the thick bandages that swaddled his torso before. There is still a thin layer of gauze, but it is more to protect the tender new scar tissue than prevent the wound from getting infected or from bleeding all over everything. 

Despite Merlin’s worries, Sir Leon is once again healthy and whole. He is also prepared to get into a great deal of trouble apparently, because he charges right passed Merlin to get to the entrance to the tent. Merlin watches him go, with a confused frown.

“Where are you going?” Merlin asks, thoroughly baffled.

Leon pauses, and turns to face Merlin, seemingly equally confused, “Outside?”

Merlin rolls his eyes and crosses the floor of the tent to meet him, “You’ll get lost within two minutes.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I have you then, isn’t it?” Leon asks in a condescending tone, like Merlin is the idiot about to walk into unknown territory without a guide.

“I don’t think I agreed to show you around.” Merlin points out.

“It’s the duty of every good guard to keep an eye on their prisoner.”

“Who’s keeping you prisoner?” 

Leon raises his eyebrows, “You.”

“I’m not keeping you prisoner.” Merlin says, frown deepening, “Why would I do that?”

“I…” Leon trails off, and tilts his head and squints his eyes, “I thought you were going to get into Morgana’s good graces by handing me back to her. I thought that was the true reason you were helping me.”

“I’ve never met Lady Morgana, why would I be interested in helping her?”

“She is far more likely to allow the Dragon Lords to return to Camelot than any of its other rulers.”

Merlin considers that for a moment. If his father was here, it would probably be the exact thing that he would have done. According to his mother, his father never got over the defeat and the following peace accords that forced them from Camelot to live out the remainder of their days in the Wilds. He would have jumped at a chance to once again live in his homeland. 

But his father hasn’t been here for thirteen winters. Merlin can barely remember him. It’s hazy impressions of eyes shaped a bit like his own, and a fierce salt and pepper beard. If his father wanted a chance to get a foothold in Camelot once more, then he should have been here to lead. He shouldn’t have decided that potential dragon eggs were more important than his own son, and the wife who loves him so much she has never looked at anyone else.

“Camelot isn’t my home.” Merlin says at last with a little shrug, “I grew up in the Wilds, and I don’t see the point in going over battles long lost.”

Leon’s eyes soften with something like awe, “You are surprisingly wise for someone who also thought it was a good idea to bring a Knight of Camelot to a camp of Dragon Lords.”

“Would you prefer if I had left you to bleed out? I’m sure there are enough people who still take the flee from Camelot that bleeding out could be arranged.”

“I think I’ll pass.” Leon says and claps Merlin on the shoulder.

Merlin grins. He was right about him and Leon getting on given the chance. He can already tell that Will is going to be in right state over it. Ah well. Merlin is hard pressed to care when Leon grins back at him.

“I’ll give you a tour so you don’t get lost when you go out on your own.”

“Not going to babysit me every day, Merlin?”

“You can be really irritating.”

Leon lets out that surprised laugh that creases his face and causes him to tilt his head back. Merlin elbows him playfully in his ribs, careful to avoid the healing scar tissue. Leon shoves Merlin’s shoulder back playfully, then gestures to the entrance.

The first stop is his mother’s tent. Merlin hasn’t stopped by in a few days, too caught up in helping Leon and settling disputes despite not being the High Dragon Lord. He makes an effort to stop by at least once a week. He may only live a two minute walk from her, but it is surprisingly easy to miss her even with the tiny population of their clan.

He ducks into the tent flap, calling out, “Mother? Are you home?”

His mother appears around the curtain that divides her space a moment later. Her hair is still tied up in the green scarf that Gwaine brought with him on the last supply run, and her eyes light up when she sees him. She is balancing a basket of laundry on one hip, which she sets aside to come greet him. 

“Get inside, it’s cold out.” She admonishes, placing a firm hand on Merlin’s back to usher him inside.

Leon trails in after them, looking horribly out of place. He hovers near the entrance, hands buried in his pockets. It’s like he’s trying to be inconspicuous, but failing. Nothing can disguise the way he carries himself; upright grounded posture, cool sweeps of his eyes to assess dangers and threats.

Merlin’s mother takes one look at him, frowns so disapprovingly that it rivals Gaius, and places her hand on his shoulder to guide him further inside as well, “You’ll catch your death wandering around in all this cold so soon after healing.”

Leon sends Merlin a wide eyed, panicked expression and babbles, “No. Really. I’ve been given permission to wander around.”

Merlin smirks back at him. His mother is a force to be reckoned with, and for once that force isn’t turned on him.

She ends up wrangle Leon to sit on a rickety chair at what serves for a dining table, and passing him a warm drink to sip at, “You must be that wayward knight that Merlin dragged home.”

“You’re making me sound like a cat who brought you a dead bird.” Merlin protests, but his mother just waves him off.

“I am a Knight of Camelot.” Leon agrees, voice taking on a pompous edge when he mentions the title. 

It makes Merlin roll his eyes. It is probably Leon’s finest accomplishment, but that doesn’t make him any less overbearing. 

Merlin takes his seat, and pours himself some of what Leon is drinking into a clay cup. He cradles it in his hands, allowing warmth to sink into his fingers. He really should dig out gloves, but they interfere with his magic. The spells come out fuzzy and muted when he wears them unless he uses his eyes, but too much squinting gives him headaches.

“Your mother must be very proud.” She says warmly.

Leon shifts awkwardly on his chair, Gazing into the contents of his cup, “I like to think so, but I’m afraid I’ve never met her.”

“I had to settle a dispute between Mary and Old Man Simmons again.” Merlin blurts, trying to draw the attention away from Leon. He looks a bit like he wants the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

“What were they arguing about this time?” she sighs.

“Mary’s dragons got into his tent and ate their way through a better part of his rations.”

“I’ve always told her she needs to be firmer with them.”

“Is there any way you can remind people to come to you with their problems?” Merlin asks hopefully.

His mother gazes at him with fond amusement, and places her hand on Merlin’s cheek, “You’re old enough to start learning the role of leadership now. You’re the one who has to settle disputes.”

“But I don’t—” Merlin starts but bites back the rest of the retort.

 _I don’t need to know how to lead because I never will_. It makes him sound like a whining child even to his own ears, but what is he meant to say? That he wants to be in charge of the fate of all of his clan? That he can’t wait to give orders and settle disputes? 

The clan has great respect for tradition, and it is why they turn to him instead of his mother now that he is old enough. He is the one that will be most likely to step in for Balinor, and therefore they must come to him. If he ascended to High Dragon Lord, they would tolerate him because it is what they think they must do, but they would never trust him. They barely trust him as it is now, and if it weren’t for his father’s name, he has no doubt he would have been forced to live in the Wilds alone as a hermit. Perhaps Will would have come with him, but everyone else would have been glad to see the back of him; Merlin who could command both dragons and the elements of the earth, Merlin who is too powerful. 

If he has to lead, then he can’t be on his own. He will have to be in the village every day, around people all day, even when the presence of other people presses on his magic so heavily he can hardly breathe. His magic is what allows him to wander in the Wilds without fear, and it is the only place he can go to let it settle when it begs to be used. If he loses that… Bo good will come of it. If Lady Morgana had staged her coup just a few years later, Merlin may not have been able to be in the Wilds to find Leon. He would have bled to death on that hill.

Leon eyes him curiously, and Merlin flashes him a halfhearted smile. It might be foolish, but he doesn’t want Leon to think any less of him. As a knight, he must admire unflappability, so Merlin does his best to pretend to be unflappable, despite being as flappable as they come.

As if sensing the argument Merlin just cut short, she drops her hand and begins to bustle around her tent once more saying in a falsely bright tone, “Drink up.”

They leave his mother’s far more subdued than when they entered. Leon keeps sliding glances in Merlin’s direction, and Merlin refuses to acknowledge them. He is so lost in his own thoughts that he keeps walking for several steps before he realizes Leon has stopped walking.

Leon’s head is tilted towards the sky, and Merlin follows the direction of his gaze. Above them, four young dragons about the size of Merlin’s forearm wheel and dive at one another. Their scales shine dark purple, green, and gold in the grey sunlight. They chitter happily at one another, not yet old enough to communicate in the dragon speak, or in English. 

“I was always taught that dragons were large vicious creatures intent on devouring the whole world.” Leon remarks when Merlin gets close enough to him.

“Some them are,” Merlin allows, “but mostly, the ones who get large enough to do it take far more joy in speaking in riddles and shouting into your head in the middle of the night.”

“Speak from experience?” Leon asks

“Killy is a bit of a bastard.”

Leon drops his head to looks at Merlin, one eyebrow raised, “I don’t think you should call a dragon a bastard. That’s likely to get you eaten.”

“Killy wouldn’t eat me even if I let him. He wouldn’t have anyone to annoy, then.”

Leon snorts.

“Oi! Merlin!” comes the familiar greeting.

Merlin tears his gaze away from Leon’s softly amused face, and shouts back at Will, “What do you want?”

“Wanted to take a look at your man!” Will calls back, and Merlin can see Freya hurrying behind in his wake. Her dragon weaves anxiously between her ankles, reflecting Freya’ mood. She has never been good at warming up to new people. Merlin, Will, and Merlin’s mother are about the only people she comes out of her shell for. After what happened to her, Merlin doesn’t blame her mistrust.

“Why is everyone so interested in me?” Leon asks, dismayed, “I’m really not that interesting.”

“You are the only person other than Gwaine to ever travel from an inner kingdom to the Wilds in the last fifteen years. Don’t worry, once they realize how big your head is, they’ll back off.”

“My head is large because I need room for all of my intellect. I’m afraid your big head is full of nothing but hot air.”

Will reaches them before Merlin can come up with a good retort, and Leon smirks in his direction. Merlin doesn’t stick his tongue out because that would be childish. It is a near thing though.

Will leans back, looking Leon over with a critical eye, “You’re Merlin’s man?”

“If you mean that I am the man that Merlin rescued and dragged here, then yes.”

“Don’t seem very grateful about that.”

“Leon, this is Will. Will, this is Leon. Be nice.” Merlin says with a pointed look.

Will rolls his eyes, “I’m always nice.”

“Liar.”

“I’m Leon.” Leon says, leaning sideways so as to make eye contact with Freya.

Freya retracts into herself, trying to appear smaller than she is, but she doesn’t duck behind Will so Leon must not be too intimidating, “Freya.”

“Freya is one of the most powerful Dragon Lords in the clan.” Merlin says with an encouraging smile.

It has the desired effect, Freya uncurls her body a little, and sends Merlin a warm, amused smile, “Not as powerful as you.”

“No one is as powerful as old Merlin.” Will says, and tosses an arm around Merlin’s shoulders in an obvious attempt to wrangle Merlin away from Leon’s side.

Leon raises his eyebrows at Merlin in surprise, “Really? Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“It’s probably best you don’t think at all, you might crack your head open if your brain gets any bigger.” Merlin jokes and Leon hides a grin in the corner of his lips.

Merlin spends the rest of the morning fending off people trying to pester Leon with questions, or eye him with suspicion. By lunch, his shoulders ache from the tension he’s been carrying. He thought getting Leon out of the tent would be good. It would fulfill Gaius’s request to have Leon up and about, and silence the hushed rumors flitting about. Instead, it was like he added fuel to the fire. Leon has handled it all marvelously, and Merlin admires his ability to smile while answering the same question for the fifth time in as many minutes.

They collapse on a log together, far enough away from the fire that no one will bother them while they try to eat their lunch. It has the distinct downside of being too far from the fire to soak up any of the warmth, but if Leon starts to get cold, Merlin will gladly give up his own jacket so they don’t have to go closer. Old Man Simmons is glaring more than usual.

Merlin passes Leon over some stew, and they eat in silence for a while.

Leon is the one to break it.

“When you rescued me from Morgana’s men, did you use magic?”

Merlin shifts uncomfortably and swallows a bite of stew, “I did, yeah.”

Leon frowns, “Can you show me?”

“Show you what?” Merlin asks, “Magic?”

“No, Merlin,” Leon drawls, “I want you to show me your pinky toe. Yes, show me your magic.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, being from Camelot and all…”

“Just shut up and show me.” Leon demands.

Merlin’s first act of magic is to upend the last few bites of Leon’s stew into his face.

*

Merlin leaves Leon behind in Merlin’s tent once more, then crosses over to Will’s. He ducks inside, and Will groans loudly and dramatically.

“That’s it.” He growls, “This is your last night here. You’re clingy in your sleep.”

Merlin frowns, “But I can’t go back to mine, Leon is there.”

“He’s a knight, I’m sure he’s used to sharing. Besides, cold season has started. Sharing body heat leaves more furs and blankets for the rest of us.”

“Will.” Merlin whines.

“I love you Merlin, but I can’t sleep with you every night until you figure out what to do with Leon. If it bothers you that much, go stay at Hunith’s. Otherwise, you’re just going to have to convince Leon to not be a prat about sharing.”


	5. Chapter 5

The cold season has officially set in by the time Merlin extricates himself from Will the next morning. For all that Will blusters and complains about Merlin being clingy, Merlin is the one who wakes up the next morning and has to spend ten minutes easing himself out from under Will’s arm. As soon as he exits the tent, post removing himself from Will’s grip, he can tell that there is no more preparation for the season to be done. Dragons cuddle together in the warmth of the cooking fires, their breath adding to the flames that their bodies put out. His magic hums differently in this season. It sits quieter in his chest, as if it too is hibernating like the animals of The Wilds.

Resigned, he makes the trip to his tent. He can’t put off wearing gloves any longer. Just these few moments outside have been enough to make his fingertips feel tingly. His hair has grown out enough to be near curly, and he is already longing for spring when he can cut it all off once more.

Leon isn’t in the bed when Merlin arrives. It feels strange after so many times walking into the room to find him still tucked up safe and sound sleeping off his wound. Hopefully he didn’t try to make a run for it. This late in the year, he is likely to catch a chill and keel over if he tries to traverse The Wilds on his own. Merlin wouldn’t put it past him, stubborn fool.

Merlin flips open the lid to his trunk and digs passed the few books he owns, and the assortment of scarves, and finally comes up with gloves. He slides them on, tugs the sleeves of his jacket down to cover the cuffs, then snaps the lid of the trunk closed again. He dusts his hands, gloves and all, on his trousers, and straightens up. The inside of his tent is a little cooler than Will’s, and the first tug of worry tugs at Merlin’s heart. Maybe Leon really did try to get away now that his injury wouldn’t hinder him as much. The fire has burned low, low enough that it’s nearly gone out.

Reflexively, Merlin adds another log to the fire. He whispers a few encouraging words, and the fire springs to life once more, devouring the log. At least the tent won’t be cold when Merlin comes back tonight.

He emerges back into camp, and nearly bumps right into Freya. She stumbles back, and Merlin reaches out to steady her. She sends him a small, amused smile.

“In a hurry?” she asks, tugging her shawl tighter about her shoulders.

Merlin smiles sheepishly, and reaches down to give Freya’s dragon a pat on the head, “No. I just noticed Leon wasn’t where I left him last night. Any ideas where he might have gone?”

Freya shakes her head, “I haven’t seen him.”

“Thanks, Frey.”

She shakes her head fondly, and wanders off towards a cooking fire for breakfast. Perplexed, Merlin stands with his hands on his hips. If Leon was stupid enough to wander off into The Wilds on his own, then Merlin isn’t about to go track him down. He’ll miss Leon’s companionship, for certain, it has been a relief to spend time with someone who doesn’t think he is destined to lead the clan regardless of his intentions. However, it wasn’t nice enough for him to go traipsing The Wilds on his own as well. Or, he doesn’t think it was nice enough anyway. He has Freya and Will. He doesn’t need another friend. 

As he stands, considering his options, he hears general carrying on from the direction of flat ground that their warriors use to train. Usually there are too few of them, given the size of the clan, to cause much ruckus in their daily training. Figuring he might as well see what all the fuss is about, Merlin wanders over towards the area that serves as a training ground.

From a distance he can see two figure locked in friendly combat. One is significantly broader than the other, and is clearly the better fighter. They hold their ground when the other attacks, and moves their sword as easily as if it were an extension of their own arm. As Merlin gets closer, there is no mistaking the golden blonde hair for anyone other than Leon.

When he arrives, his hunch is confirmed. Leon is the superior fighter. 

Merlin leans against the half-constructed fence they put up to delineate the battle grounds. Around him other warriors lean in, rapt with fascination as Leon moves. Uther’s men have always been some of the best fighters according to the stories about the Flee from Camelot they were all told as children, but this is the first time Merlin has had a chance to see one fight. The whole point of fleeing to The Wilds was to avoid confrontation with Uther’s men, and Merlin is grateful he’s never had the chance to see one until now. 

There is no doubt in his mind that Leon is the best fighter in Camelot. Despite being injured just a week or so before, and spending several weeks running for his life, he holds his own against the clan warriors with ease. His mind analyzes the situation lightning quick, and he reacts just as fast. Within a few seconds, the warrior he was fighting has tipped onto his back, Leon’s sword at his throat.

Leon offers him a hand up, smiling like he’s having the time of his life. The warrior accepts it with good grace, laughing about the whole thing.

“If Gaius catches you he’ll finish the job Morgana started.” Merlin calls out playfully.

Leon turns his head, a faint look of surprise spread across his face, and it crinkles into something self-assured, “Don’t be stupid. I train much harder than this usually.”

“I’m just saying that you don’t want to see Gaius when you’ve reinjured yourself.” Merlin says with a shrug, “He gets this look in his eye that is truly terrifying.”

“Anything is probably terrifying to a weakling like you.”

“Rude. Just because I don’t walk about flashing my muscles at everyone doesn’t mean I can’t defend myself. I did save your life.”

“You did.” Leon concedes, “Stop worrying, Merlin. I’m fine. I’m fully healed.”

Merlin wouldn’t go so far as to say fully healed, but it is true that the wound that was so grievous when Merlin dragged Leon to safety is no longer giving Leon trouble. He’s been able to do away with the bandages now thanks to Gaius’s intervention. All that’s left is a shiny pink scar that slashes across Leon’s side.

It occurs to Merlin, as he is eyeing the scar critically, that Leon has done away with his shirt for training. This is the first time Merlin is seeing him bare chested when he isn’t clinging to life or recovering from clinging to life. There is nothing sickly about his form. His shoulders are broad, and his chest is thick. His arms are thick as well, although not to the point of being someone’s head like Merlin has seen in the men from the other clans. He is covered in a light sheen of sweat, and it dampens the hair at the base of his neck, turning it that dark gold almost brown. With a sword in his hand, looking at home in the world, Merlin upgrades his internal description of Leon from handsome to beautiful. Even the crooked set of his teeth, and the little flattened point on the bridge of his nose where it got broken and didn’t set properly, adds to the effect. 

Leon smirks at him like he knows what Merlin is thinking, and Merlin scowls back. Leon lets out a bark of laughter, and wanders over to the fence. He snags his shirt from where he draped it, and tugs it on, obscuring all that lovely tanned skin. Merlin is bizarrely grateful for the gesture. He is also relieved that Leon remembered to grab Will’s old cloak before leaving. The sight of his Camelot cape might have turned this friendly training session into something far more dangerous.

“Hungry?” Leon asks conversationally as he finishes tying the closure of the cloak. The blue looks good on him.

“Starving.” Merlin answers.

“Great,” Leon says cheerfully as he sheathes his sword, “then you can get us some breakfast.”

“Why am _I_ always getting _you_ breakfast?” Merlin asks as they wander off towards the fires, “You have two working arms and legs.”

“Because I’m your guest. Hosts always provide for their guests.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, and takes a seat on a log near the fire. Leon joins him, and they both get passed a bowl of stew by the person on breakfast duty. Merlin digs into the porridge, and Leon does the same. Comfortable silence stretches between them for a while as they eat.

“I wanted to let you know something.” Merlin says, remembering what Will said last night.

Leon raises his eyebrows curiously.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to be sharing tent.”

“Why would we be sharing a tent?”

“Because you’ve been staying in mine, and Will has officially kicked me out of his.” Merlin answers, as he gets up to scoop a little more porridge into his bowl.

Leon snorts at him, “Lovers’ Quarrel?” 

Merlin pauses with the ladle halfway to his bowl, and turns back to Leon, “Why would it be a Lovers’ Quarrel?”

“Oh.” Leon shifts anxiously on the log, bravado suddenly forgotten, “I just thought… because you were sharing a tent…”

“Oh!” Merlin exclaims and finishes the process of serving himself more porridge, “No. Well, used to. Will and I were together as teenagers, but we were better suited to being friends.”

“I see. I apologize for assuming.” 

“It’s okay.”

The silence is awkward this time. Leon looks at a loss for words, bent over his bowl of porridge. He shovels a big spoonful into his mouth to avoid looking at Merlin. Merlin does the same, but keeps looking at Leon out of the corner of his eye. For all that Leon seems to take the world in stride, there seems to be a small part of him that cringes away from any misunderstanding or mistake.

“So you’ll be sharing the tent.” He says finally, in a valiant attempt to recover the easiness of before.

Merlin nods, swallowing is bite of porridge, “Yeah. I don’t snore or anything so it shouldn’t be too painful.”

Leon shrugs and smiles wistfully, “It’s alright. I’m used to sleeping near others on campaigns and patrols.”

“Stick around long enough and maybe you’ll join the patrols for our clan.” Merlin jokes.

“As hospitable as you’ve all been, I would really rather prefer it if I got to go home again.”

“Can’t blame you.”

Leon smiles gratefully, and Merlin nudges him with his shoulder playfully. He understands what it’s like to miss something or feel out of place. He wants Leon to stick around just as much as he wants Leon to have his home back. 

“What are the plans for the day?” Leon asks, setting aside his empty bowl.

“With the cold set in there won’t be much to do.” Merlin explains, “The only chores now will be the day to day.”

“Cooking, cleaning?”

“That sort of thing.”

“Well, I’m rubbish at both.”

Merlin chuckles, “Why am I not surprised?”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“It’s fine. We stocked up fire wood for the season, and we’ll need to carry a lot of it in to keep the fires in the tents as high as they need.”

“I think I can manage carrying fire wood.”

“I’m sure you can.” Merlin says sarcastically.

Leon leans over and punches him on the arm. It’s obvious he is pulling it, hitting Merlin nowhere near as hard as he could. Even so, it still stings. He rubs his arm with a wounded look in Leon’s direction.

“Why did you hit me?”

Leon blinks, as if reconsidering his entire life, “The knights and I do it when we’re making fun of each other.”

“Well, that’s different. They’re thick, aren’t they?”

“I’m a knight.” Leon says stiffly.

Merlin raises his eyebrows, “There we go then.”

Leon narrows his eyes, and punches Merlin on the arm again, a little harder. Merlin rubs his arm indignantly as Leon stands and says, “Come on. The sooner we get on that fire wood, the sooner we can all move on with our day.”

Merlin sighs, but gets to his feet as well. Leon strikes him as someone who isn’t used to long periods of inactivity. Even if he wasn’t inclined to do chores before, Merlin has no doubt he would have jumped in at some point just for something to do. 

The wood pile is on the outskirts of the tents. Merlin vaguely remembers a time when he was much younger that the wood was stacked outside individual tents, but after one too many close calls involving baby dragons and flames near fabric, the decision was made to move it to the outskirts. It ended up working in their favor regardless. This system allows them to store more than trying to stack it individually. The individual stacking lead to too many blocked paths.

Merlin leads Leon over to the pile, and Leon stares around at the world like he’s slipped through a faerie ring into another realm. It takes Merlin a moment to remember that Leon has never been this far north before. Ground frozen this early in the year is probably unheard of back in Camelot.

“You alright?” Merlin asks as he loads himself down with logs.

Leon blinks, coming back to himself, “It’s just strange here, is all.”

“You’re strange to a lot of us too.”

“I think you’re the strangest out of anybody.” Leon retorts, “I just mean that there are things that remind me so much of Camelot. The way you train your men, the way your tents are set up.”

“Our tents?”

“You set them almost identically to the ones we use on campaign.”

“I suppose that’s what happens when Uther unseats someone and forces any loyalists to flee. The culture gets mixed together.”

“How many people are bitter about that?” Leon asks, shifting guilty eyes Merlin’s way.

Merlin shrugs, “Mostly just the people who remember what it was like when our High Dragon Lord had a castle.”

“Not you?”

“I’m somewhere in between. I don’t like that we had to flee, and I don’t appreciate that people like me were forced into hiding across all five kingdoms and The Wilds because of one man’s vendetta, but I don’t have any particular attachment to Camelot. I’m sure another king ruled it before the first Dragon Lords took it. Kingdoms rise and fall like anything else. I just wish we were allowed to live where we wished without interference or fear.”

“You’re doing that strange wisdom thing again.” Leon grumbles.

Merlin grins at him, “Just another part of my charm.”

With that, they set off back towards camp with their arms stacked high with wood. They spend most of the day like that, hauling wood or helping with other chores. By the end of it, Leon is left sitting on a log waiting for dinner, staring sleepily into the middle distance. Merlin is willing to bet he overdid it with training and chores, but Leon was too stubborn to take a break when Merlin told him to, no matter that his body is still healing from being slashed to ribbons.

Merlin passes him a bowl of stew, and takes a seat next to him. The firelight plays across Leon’s features, making him appear noble and a little mysterious. He is lost deep in thought, only startling out of it at the promise of stew.

“You would never see a leader help do menial tasks like this in Camelot.” Leon says softly, not wanting to attract attention to his status as a refuge knight from an enemy kingdom to those not already in the know.

“When there is so few of us so far north, we can’t afford to let anyone wiggle out of chores. And I’m not the leader.”

“They treat you like you are.”

“Shut up and eat your stew.”

Leon huffs a laugh, but does as he’s told.

They drag their weary bodies to Merlin’s tent that night. As Leon sheds his boots and shirt in order to prepare for bed, Merlin digs a pile of furs and blankets from another trunk in his room. Sleeping on the ground won’t be the most comfortable, but he’s done it before and it is vastly superior to sleeping at his mother’s until they find enough material to make him either a new tent or a hut. He crouches down, and spreads a fur out on the ground, attempting to make something of a layer between himself and where he sleeps.

“What are you doing?” Leon’s voice rings loud in the quiet.

Merlin glances back over his shoulder, “Making a place to sleep?”

“Aren’t you taking the cot?”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

Leon sighs, and gestures at it, “It’s yours. I can sleep on the ground.”

“Leon, you’re still healing.”

“A night on the ground won’t do me any harm, Merlin.”

It’s only been a little over a week since Leon arrived, but Merlin can already judge how irritated he is by how hard he emphasizes the first syllable in Merlin’s name.

“It’ll be more than a night. Will isn’t going to let me back, and I love my mother, but there is a reason I chose to live in a tent away from her.” Merlin says reasonably, “I’m here until further notice.”

Leon sighs and sits heavily on the edge of the cot, “Then just share with me.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

Merlin scratches his cheek, “I’ve been told I have a tendency to cling during sleep.”

“So I finally won’t be freezing. Stop arguing and get into bed.”

“Alright, alright. Prat.”

Merlin slips into his old worn trousers that he uses for sleep, and slides his tunic over his head to exchange it for the thin white one he uses. There is a sharp intake of breath from behind him. He turns around to find Leon staring at him, eyes wide.

“What?” Merlin asks, tugging his shirt on.

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”

Merlin glances down at his arm, now obscured by the fabric of his shirt. He got it so long ago that he sometimes forgets that he has it. Beneath the fabric is the silhouette of a dragon curling around his arm.

“It’s hard to see through the shirt and jacket.” Merlin answers, “Budge over.”

Leon slips under the pile of blankets and shuffles over to make room for Merlin. They barely fit side by side like this, but it’s warm. After a few moments, Merlin gets used to sharing a bed with someone who isn’t Will, and he drops to sleep easily with Leon’s gentle breathing in his ear.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for those of you that read this last week before I came back and edited, this might be a repeat for you. I was moving too quickly, and I accidentally posted 5 and 6 together. So you will be getting a repeat of 'Leon' and Merlin cuddling and 'Leon' doing his best to be encouraging despite being emotionally constipated. 
> 
> For those of you who are new to this chapter, welcome!

Merlin can’t remember his bed ever being this warm. The cold season always finds him huddled under a pile of blankets and furs, warm but just barely enough to keep him from catching a chill. This morning, his bed is properly cozy. Normally he would have already swung out of bed to start on his day, but he finds that he isn’t inclined to move for once. He wants to savor this warmth. It is a commodity difficult to come by in the cold season.

He lets out a content little sigh, and snuggles closer to the source of the warmth. His feet brush against a pair of legs, and he experiences a moment of confusion. He doesn’t remember falling asleep at Will’s last night, and he certainly doesn’t have anyone else to share a bed with. Slightly more awake now, he realizes something else. Whoever is in bed with him keeps brushing against his arm. It definitely isn’t Will. Merlin is always up long before him, and Will isn’t nearly that tender.

He peels his eyes open, and blinks blearily at the figure in the bed next to him. He is met with messy blonde hair, and solemn little frown. Leon is propped up slightly on one elbow. That’s right. Will kicked him out last night, and Leon offered to share the bed for warmth. Very nice of him. This is the best wake up Merlin has had in ages.

With the hand not attached to the arm Leon is fascinated by, Merlin rubs his eye with the heel of his hand and says sleepily, “Everything alright?”

Leon glances at him, blinking like he didn’t notice Merlin wake, “Quite alright.” He promises easily.

Merlin sighs and tugs one of the blankets a little higher over his shoulder. Leon continues his intense scrutiny of Merlin’s arm, tracing a pattern over and over. In his half-asleep state, it take Merlin a little while to realize that Leon is tracing the tattoo he saw the night before. It must be easier to see now, in the light of day.

“You can ask questions about it, you know.” Merlin says with a little smile, “It’s in a fairly obvious place. If I wanted to hide it, I would have put on my back or somewhere.”

Leon leans up on his elbow, still with that same solemn pinch between is brows, “The only people I’ve met with tattoos are druids.”

“Lots of people use tattoos for different things.” Merlin explains, and presses down on Leon’s shoulder, “You’re letting cold air in.”

Leon obliges Merlin’s request, and tucks himself safely back under the blankets. He remains on his side, facing Merlin, his eyes scanning Merlin’s face as though they hold answers that he can’t fathom on his own. Merlin escapes the scrutiny for a moment, unused to being the sole focus of one person’s attention, and extends a hand to the fire. He whispers the spell under his breath, and the flames jump higher and begin crackling happily in the brazier again.

When he settles back down, Leon is still watching him. It is a little disconcerting to be on the receiving end of a gaze intent on figuring him out.

“I’m not used to magic being used so openly either.”

“Sorry.” Merlin says, entirely unrepentant. 

Leon just shakes his head and gets back to the subject at hand, “Are tattoos a common part of your culture?”

“Not many get them. They tend to signify something, so if you have nothing to signify, then…”

“Why get one?”

Merlin nods in agreement.

Leon shifts onto his back then to gaze at the fabric of the tent above them. Merlin crinkles his nose in annoyance. Positioned like this, he isn’t nearly as warm as he was when Leon was on his side. He doubts Leon is much of one for cuddling, let alone cuddling with someone he’s only known for a couple weeks. Leon strikes him more as a gruff affection sort of man; punches on the shoulder, hair ruffling, claps on the back, that kind of thing. So Merlin does not shuffle over and drape himself across Leon’s torso like he would have done if it were Will, and instead lets Leon go over his thoughts unmolested. Shame. Leon is built for swinging swords and charging into fights, he is built broad and sturdy. It makes him perfect for sharing body heat.

The dawn light creeps under the edge of the tent flap, and through the weave of the fabric. It bathes everything in that strange grey-blue color of early morning, and it makes Leon look far more serious than Merlin has ever seen him. It highlights the wrinkle in his brow, the put of his lips, and makes him appear stoic and noble.

Finally, as if sensing Merlin watching him, he shifts his head on the pillow. “So what does a curling black dragon signify, Merlin?”

Merlin groans and tugs the pillow from under his face so he can hide behind it. He doesn’t want to talk about it ever, let alone with a Knight of Camelot in his bed. Especially when he and said knight have developed something of a friendship with a tinge of something else to it. This is a sure fire way to get Leon to run for the hills and take his chance with the clans in the mountains.

Unfortunately, Leon has apparently never been told the word no. He grabs the pillow Merlin was using and, after a brief tussle that Merlin has no way of stopping without using magic, yanks it out of Merlin’s grip, holding it high above his head where he can’t reach it. 

“Don’t be such a girl. Just tell me.”

“Give me my pillow back.”

“After you tell me what’s going on.”

Merlin scowls, and kicks at Leon’s shin under the blanket.

Leon raises his eyebrows.

Merlin rolls his eyes, and stares up at the fabric above their heads so he doesn’t have to look at Leon when he says, “It’s a mark of how powerful I am.”

Leon returns his pillow to him and Merlin stuffs it back under his head.

“How powerful you are in the clan?” Leon asks curiously.

“No.” Merlin answers, mouth twisting in unconscious disapproval, “How powerful my gifts are.”

“If you sat through the process of getting poked over and over again with needles, I’m assuming it means you’re very powerful.”

“Between my magic and my ability to order Killy, there are some…” 

“There are some…?”

“There are some who think I’m the most powerful Dragon Lord in several generations, and possibly a sorcerer from an ancient legend.” Merlin admits, still not looking at Leon, “It’s stupid.”

“I thought Dragon Lords didn’t get their powers until the parent died.”

“My father died for roughly thirty seconds during the Battle of Camelot. That, combined with my magic, apparently was enough for me to inherit his gifts even though he’s alive and well.”

Leon frowns, “I have met everyone in this clan, but I never met your father. Unless it’s Old Man Simmons.”

Merlin grimaces and shakes his head, “My father, the leader of this clan, left shortly after we settled here. He was planning on traversing The Wilds in search of more dragons to try to restore the species after so many died when Uther ran us out of Camelot.”

“So I was lucky enough to slide in between visits?”

“Nope. He hasn’t been back in nearly thirteen years.”

Leon shifts next to him in the bed, looking incredibly uncomfortable. 

Merlin takes pity on him and offers a reassuring smile and a shrug, “I know you’re thinking he’s probably dead, but something about us sharing the ability to command dragons means I can feel him alive out there.”

“This sounds incredibly complicated.” Leon says, and Merlin snorts.

“You have no idea.”

Leon gets lost in his thoughts again, and Merlin lets him. The fact Leon hasn’t gone running never to return is a huge relief, and Merlin decides not to push his luck. If he keeps asking Leon what he’s thinking about, it will probably back him into a corner. He’s a lot like Will that way. Nearly all of Merlin’s arguments with Will have started because Merlin couldn’t leave well enough alone. He won’t make that mistake here.

He wiggles is way back under the blankets, having wriggles out of them in the brief pillow struggle with Leon. They have lost some of their warmth, but it’s still better than just lying there with the cold air nipping at him even through a nightshirt. He tucks the tip of his nose between two layers of blanket, and slowly he starts to warm back up. His eyes are just starting to slip closed to bring him back to sleep, when Leon speaks again.

“It’s strange. I grew up my entire life being taught that the Dragon Lords were cruel and bloodthirsty.” He says slowly, “But I have been here for two weeks, and you have all welcomed me in. Even those of you who know that I fight for Camelot have let me wander freely as I please. You haven’t taken my sword, or barred me from training. _You_ even willing climbed into bed with me. None of those actions are cruel, or even mercenary.”

“People will say just about anything if it keeps them in power.” Merlin says, only a little bitter, “Don’t forget that I also have magic. I’m distrusted even in my own clan because of it.”

“But they flock to you as their leader.”

“Tradition runs strong here. I am a powerful Dragon Lord, and the son of the current High Dragon Lord. They feel they have to turn to me. Doesn’t mean they don’t disagree with every decision I make on principal.”

“Must be a hard way to live.” Leon says, finally rolling over to face Merlin.

“It’s not all bad. I have Will, and I have Freya. I think you and I might be on the path towards friendship.”

“Bold claim.” 

“You’re the one who offered to share a bed with _me_ ,” Merlin says with a dramatic gaps, “am I to understand you only wanted me for my body heat?”

“Are you sure your people disagree with you out of principal, and not just because your decisions are stupid?” Leon asks mildly.

“I do think letting you stay with us was a stupid decisions, if that’s what you’re asking.” Merlin answers.

Leon lets out a bark of laughter, golden and warm in the dark of the tent. Merlin finds himself smiling in response. Talking to Leon is easy. A current of understanding runs between them without any specific effort to create it, and it makes Merlin giddy.

Unconsciously, Leon’s hand reaches out, and he starts stroking Merlin’s tattoo once more. It’s like he’s drawn to it the same way that birds are drawn to shiny things. Merlin doesn’t complain. This is the most someone has touched him besides quick fumbles with those that can actually stand him long enough to forget the magic for a time.

“What was Camelot like?” Merlin asks softly.

“It was simpler there, in some ways, but more complicated in others.” Leon answers, still gazing at the tattoo, “The prince was the prince. No one got a choice unless the king disinherited the heir to choose a new one. It was done by blood, not by merit. Our knights are nobility, magic is evil, Dragon Lords are almost as evil as sorcerers.”

“Coming here must have been a shock.”

“As a knight, I was expected to lay down my life for the kingdom, but that awarded me a position free from tasks like laundry.”

“You seemed to know what you were doing when I saw you in training yesterday.”

“I was First Knight.”

“I’m assuming that means you were very good.” Merlin says dryly.

Leon snorts and flicks Merlin’s ear, “Yes, Merlin. It means I was very good. The best, actually.”

Merlin rubs his ear with an irritated scowl in Leon’s direction. Leon just grins back at him, pleased with himself. He reminds Merlin a great deal of a five year old in that moment. Only children take such great delight in irritating others.

“Ass.” Merlin complains.

Leon rolls his eyes, drapes a well-muscled arm around Merlin’s shoulders, and tugs him in close so that Merlin is tucked close to him once more. Merlin lets out a soft noise of relief as warmth envelops him. He hadn’t even realized how cold he’d gotten since waking up until the heat was returned.

“I think you and Guinevere would get along.” Leon remarks absently.

“Why’s that?”

“You both like to call me names.”

“She must know you well if she was allowed to insult the honor of a Knight of Camelot without going to the stocks.”

“I spent a lot of time with Morgana.” Leon says, and sadness fills his voice when he mentions her name, “Since Guinevere was her maid, we struck up a friendship of sorts.”

“We’ll find her, you know.” Merlin says encouragingly, “It won’t be long before Gaius gives you permission to go look, and then you and I will be able to scout the places the dragons can’t get to.”

“Right.” Leon says with a disbelieving snort.

“Such optimism.”

Another silence settles between them. Outside, Merlin can hear the rest of the clan rousing to work. There is loud chatter, cooking smells, the calls of dragons getting grumpy out their fires being used for cooking, and the cries of irritated people as the trip over dragons who have chosen an inopportune place to lay. Life is continuing on in the chilly light of day while the two of them lay tangled together in Merlin’s tent.   
Merlin is usually up long before this. The early morning is the best time to get work done without anyone interfering with him. Any moment now someone is going to come barreling into his tent to check that he hasn’t fallen ill in his sleep or vanished mysteriously.

He’ll probably want to get out of bed before that happens. If someone comes in to find him in bed with Leon, they’ll get the wrong impression, especially with the way he’s curled up nice and warm in Leon’s arms. The gossip will have reached his mother by lunch, and that would be horribly embarrassing to explain to her. She worries too much about him being lonely, and this revelation would make her fuss over him for weeks. 

None of this is motivation enough to leave his nice warm bed and face the cold day. He is comfortable right where he is.

“Your tattoo marks you as the most powerful Dragon Lord in generations.” Leon remarks suddenly.

“So you were listening.” Merlin says sarcastically.

“Shut up, Merlin.” He retorts, “What I mean is that being the most powerful is the requirement for being High Dragon Lord.”

“I know?” Merlin says uncertainly, “Where is this going?”

“You said that you weren’t guaranteed to be heir, but that tattoo would indicate the opposite.”

“Oh. Well, for it to be official I have to participate in the trials.” Merlin explains, “And I’m not going to.”

“Well that’s stupid. Why aren’t you?”

“I don’t want to be High Dragon Lord.”

“Your people need—” 

“If you say, ‘your people need you’ I will turn you into a toad.” Merlin warns, “My people need someone who they trust, and actually wants to do the job. It should go to Will or Freya.”

“Why don’t you want it?” Leon asks, voice no longer inspiring Merlin to righteousness like he’s a young knight on his first battle.

“I would be terrible at it. I don’t have the skill that lets you make the right choices for the most amount of people, or at least not in a way that’s diplomatic. I do what I feel is right, and most of the time it ends in disaster.” Merlin drags a hand through his hair, “Freya may not be a good choice either. She gets too frightened for it to be fair to her, but Will would be good at it. He can see the larger picture in ways I can’t, and the clan loves him despite him hanging around me when we were children. He’s earned it. I haven’t, and I don’t want to.”

“You’re not completely useless. Give yourself some credit.”

“I am. If you need a village defend against attack, if you need someone to call a dragon to heel, then I am the one you should go to. If you want unity between clans, or diplomatic negotiations with other leaders, then you should go to Will.”

“The very fact you know your own weaknesses, of which there are apparently many, means you might just be the right person for the job.”

“How would you know?” Merlin asks, frowning suspiciously.

“What?” Leon asks, clearly caught off guard.

“How would you know what qualities someone would need to make a good king?” Merlin asks, “I know knights are loyal to the crown, but I didn’t peg them as the ones to judge who was the best suited for kingship.”

“I just meant that I would rather serve a man who was aware of his flaws than a man who thought he was right all the time.”

“I’m sure you would also prefer to serve a man you knew you could trust.” Merlin points out.

“Merlin, you may have a shifty look about you, but I highly doubt you have a treacherous bone in your body.”

“You seemed very determined to get me to believe in myself for someone who called me a girl not that long ago.” Merlin jokes.

Leon’s annoyed sigh ruffles the hair at the top of Merlin’s head, “You are impossible to deal with.”

“You are far from the first person to tell me that.”

Leon smiles and retracts his arm from around Merlin’s shoulders, “I am not surprised by this in the least. Let’s get up, I’m starving.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whole new chapter this week!

Merlin flits along the periphery of the tent, pretending to organize some things.

“And extend your right arm for me.” Gaius says softly, and Merlin glances surreptitiously over his shoulder.

Leon is sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt off, looking fitter than Merlin has seen him in the weeks. The last three weeks of sword work has apparently been exactly what Leon needed to get back on his feet, or that’s what it seems at least. The nasty life threatening gash has faded to scar tissue, and thanks to Gaius’s salve even the scar is beginning to take on the silver-white sheen of age. Merlin has been helping him apply it in places that were difficult to reach, and if he enjoyed touching Leon a little more than he should, well, that is a secret for him to keep to himself. He is quite proud of himself for being so subtle not even Will and Freya know. Of course, he only knows this because Will has even less subtlety than Merlin himself and would have blabbed it all over camp by now, hence why Leon’s identity as a knight of Camelot remains a secret even from the people Merlin trusts most.

“Merlin,” Leon groans in that funny way of his that places extra emphasis on the first syllable of Merlin’s name, “stop hovering.”

Merlin straightens up, brandishing his bundle of dirty tunics in his hands as a visual representation of his excuse. He isn’t hovering. Hovering would imply unduly concern over Leon’s wellbeing. Merlin is only a regular amount of worried for someone he has known for two months. That’s all.

He ignores the traitorous voice that says he has cared more for Leon than simply a friend since the morning he woke up to Leon tracing the tattoo with his fingertips, soft and sweet for once.

“I’m cleaning.” Merlin responds, and nods at the bundle for extra emphasis.

Leon sighs, rolls his eyes, and looks to Gaius, “You had better invite him to be part of the proceedings before he trips over something because he isn’t paying attention.”

“I’m not that clumsy, you ass!” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” Gaius remarks, and doesn’t even try to hide his smile at Merlin’s indignant huff, “Now, are you going to come stand here or continue to pretend you have no interest in the proceedings?” 

Merlin sets his tunic bundle near the entrance flap to the tent, and comes to join Gaius. He plops himself down on the trunk next to the bed, still unmoved from the night Leon first arrived and Merlin sat vigil. Perhaps his concern for Leon isn’t as recent a development as he would like to admit. In his defense, he did save Leon’s life. That forms a bond between people, one even stronger than the one created by sharing a bed, or maybe just different. Merlin isn’t sure. He doesn’t think in riddles like Kilgharrah.

“If you would be so kind as to stand for me.” Gaius remarks, voice calm and professional once more.

Leon shoves himself gracefully to his feet. Merlin is fairly sure that he could spend hours practicing the very same motion and never achieve it as gracefully. Leon just has a certain bearing to him that makes him solid and unshakeable, even in motion. He carries himself with a far more noble bearing than Merlin despite Merlin technically being an heir of sorts. How anyone could consider him for such a position when a _knight_ can do it better…

“Touch your toes.”

Leon bends down, brushing his fingers against the floor of Merlin’s tent. It highlights all the muscles in his back, the bastard. 

Gaius pats Leon on the back and takes a step back, “You’re all finished.”

Leon straightens back up, snatches his tunic (one Will parted with because of the large hole in the armpit he didn’t feel like darning) off the bed, and tugs it over his head, “So? Am I cleared?”

“I believe you are once again fighting fit.” Gaius says as he begins packing his bag once more, “You will want to keep applying the salve so the scar tissue doesn’t tighten and restrict movement, but other than that you are free to come and go as you please.”

“Thank you, Gaius.” Leon says solemnly, and clasps Gaius on one of his ancient shoulders, “I owe you a great debt.”

Merlin snorts. He had a hand in saving Leon as well.

As if deciphering Merlin’s thoughts, Leon whips out an arm, and tugs Merlin into his side in a headlock. He digs his knuckles into Merlin’s hair, grinning, and says, “I already thanked you for your part in it. You don’t need even more praise.”

“I’m not the one with the massive head.” Merlin shoots back, struggling to break out of Leon’s grip.

Gaius smiles fondly at them, and slings his satchel over one shoulder. For all that Gaius gets the reputation as the stern uncle of the settlement, he has always had a soft spot for Merlin and anyone Merlin cares for. Will and Freya were folded into his affection long ago, and Leon has now joined their ranks. Gaius leaves to tend to his other patients, leaving Merlin and Leon alone together.

With one last dig of his knuckles, Leon releases Merlin. Merlin rubs at the top of his head, and tries to glare at Leon threateningly. Only, Merlin is helpless in the face of Leon’s grin. It is the happiest Merlin has ever seen him, and it would be a shame to bring the mood down by not smiling back.

“What has you so happy?” Merlin asks.

“Gaius gave me the all clear.”

“I was there for that bit.”

“Merlin,” Leon says tiredly, “that means we can go look for Gwen. We should head out now.”

“No, we really shouldn’t.” Merlin laughs, “By the time we pack enough supplies for a mission we’ll have lost the light, and it gets too cold after dark this time of year to be anywhere but sharing body heat. Besides, I think Killian and Joff had the horses today and they’ll need a rest.”

“You only have two horses?”

“Unless you count Granny Mags who might be as old as Kilgharrah.”

“Ridiculous.” Leon mutters.

“It isn’t like we have to travel far. We aren’t trying to make peace with any other kingdoms, and the other clans leave well enough alone unless they need help from the High Dragon Lord.” Merlin points out.

“Which is you.”

“No, I’m only filling in.”

“Fine, _will_ be you.” Leon corrects, eyes flashing, “Like it makes any difference.”

“I told you, I won’t participate in the challenge when the time comes.”

“You’re shirking your duties.”

Merlin crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows at Leon, “I know you’re worried for your friend, but you don’t have to shout at me about it.”

Leon closes his eyes and sinks onto the edge of the bed, head resting in his hands. He is silent for what feels like an eternity but is probably only for a few seconds. When he looks up, Merlin can see fear, carefully concealed behind concern, in the blue of his eyes.

“I know. It wasn’t well done of me. She was my responsibility and I…”

“Did the best you could given the circumstances.” Merlin finishes the sentence, and sits next to Leon on the bed. He rests his hand on Leon’s shoulder, and Leon leans into the touch. Merlin is sure of it. “I gave you my word, remember? We’ll find her.”

“We leave at first light tomorrow.”

“Yes, Sire.” Merlin says sarcastically.

It makes Leon jerk, the first inelegant thing Merlin has ever seen him do, and look at Merlin calculatingly.

“Something wrong?” 

“No. Nothing is wrong.” Leon says, looking away again, “Just got the chills.”

Merlin is almost certain he is lying, but decides to let it go. Leon doesn’t seem like one to share his emotions easily or often, and Merlin doesn’t feel like dragging a confession out of him. Especially not when they plan to embark on a quest at first light.

“Come on. We can at least get our packs ready. It’ll save us precious time in the morning.” Merlin suggests.

Leon nods, pushing back to his feet. It shakes Merlin’s hand from his shoulder, and Merlin refuses to think of it as a brush off. Even if Leon hasn’t developed some sort of strange attraction in the same way Merlin has, they are still friends. There would be no reason for him to intentionally shake it off, not after putting Merlin in a headlock a few minutes ago.

They leave the tent together to start gathering supplies for their search party. 

*

Merlin rolls over in bed, breath fogging into the chilled morning air. Next to him, Leon is still sound asleep. He has one hand still tucked under his pillow, the other is in the gap between them, like Leon reached out in the night to touch Merlin. It was probably just a natural reaction to seeking heat, but it still sets something warm buzzing in Merlin’s chest.

He is tempted to let Leon sleep. It’s clear that he hasn’t gotten much since Morgana’s coup in Camelot, and he looks gentler in sleep. The walls he keeps around himself are still there, but they are made of something fleeting and insubstantial. It makes Merlin’s magic react, like it wants to reach out and push through the walls and connect with whatever is behind. 

Merlin shakes himself of such fanciful notions. Leon would kill him if they missed any time in their hunt for Gwen, and Merlin would never forgive himself if something bad happened to Leon’s friend.

“Leon.” He says softly and takes Leon’s exposed shoulder in one hand, “Leon, get up.”

Leon makes a disagreeing noise in his throat (Merlin would probably classify it as groan, Leon would vehemently deny the accusation) and presses his face into the darkness of the pillows, “Just five more minutes.”

“Rise and shine!” Merlin says loudly into Leon’s ear.

Leon jerks awake, fumbles for his sword, overbalances, and promptly tumbles out of bed. Merlin muffles his laughter behind his hand, and leans over the edge of the bed to peer down at him. Leon is still tangled in the bed clothes, and he glares up at Merlin in a way that should be intimidating given he was trained to kill people, but just makes Merlin laugh harder.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” Leon says darkly.

Merlin untangles himself from his potion of the bedding, rounds the end of the bed and helps Leon to his feet, “You weren’t responding and I knew you wanted to go look for Gwen.”

“You intentionally startled me, and I’m only not running you through because you are somewhat useful to my quest.”

“Of course, Sir Leon. I will endeavor to be the perfect peon from this moment forth.”

Leon just sighs heavily.

After a quick breakfast by the fires, and a small battle with Will’s dragon as it tries to trick Leon into giving up half his breakfast, they load up the horses. The horses are not at all pleased to be woken this early in the morning, and one attempts to bite Merlin when he goes to mount, much to Leon’s amusement. He proclaims it revenge for that morning, Merlin proclaims it grumpy old horse attitude. Then they finally ride out onto the hills.

“I figured I would take us back to where I found you, and you can try to retrace your steps from there.” Merlin explains, shielding his eyes from the bright winter sun. 

“A solid plan.” Leon agrees, then shudders heavily, “Why couldn’t Morgana have chosen to coup in the summer? I would have been warm then.”

“What? A big strong knight can’t stand a little cold?” Merlin jokes.

Leon rolls his eyes, “Like I can’t feel you shivering away next to me in bed half the night.”

“You could always do something about that yourself.”

Leon gawps at him, and Merlin feels himself flush a little. He didn’t mean it like that. He just meant that they’re sharing a bed for the body heat, actually holding each other would go a long way towards warming them both. He decides not to dig himself a deeper hole and remain silent for once.

It takes them until nearly lunch to reach the point where Merlin first found Leon. Merlin hadn’t realized how far out he had wandered that day. Sometimes that happens. His magic, always seeking to connect him to the earth, can blind him to time and distance. Both seem minimal in the grand scheme of things when he gets like that. They call a temporary halt to allow the horses their rest, and to eat some of the food they packed.

“Any idea which direction you came from?” Merlin asks, stroking his horse’s nose.

Leon squints at his surroundings, jaw tightening with worry, “None of this looks familiar.”

“You were in a lot of pain, and running for your life. It isn’t surprising that it’s a bit fuzzy. We’ll head southeast. If you had come from the southwest, you would have had to contend with a lake, and you didn’t look like you went swimming.”

Leon nods tightly, and they ride on in silence. Occasionally Merlin asks whether they’re on the right track, but Leon always just shakes his head. His face grows stormier the longer they go on. An hour before sunset Merlin calls another stop against Leon’s protests that they keep going.

“I’m going to try something.” Merlin mutters, waving Leon away. At least Leon is smart enough to recognize when Merlin is going to attempt to cast a spell. He dismounts his own horse and takes the reins to Merlin’s without another word of complaint. 

Merlin crouches down on his heels and presses his palm flat against the earth. His magic runs off his fingertips like little rivulets of water. He’s only ever cast this spell on places, or on people he has met before. He has no idea if it will work for someone he has never met, but it has to be better than searching endlessly for Gwen to maybe never find her. 

He breathes out the words of the spell, and his vision blurs white for a moment. Then he is rushing through the hills. The light is bright and nearly blinding, but he presses on. He just needs a sign, any sign of her. A rip of fabric, even would give them a starting point. The spell fades out before he can find anything.

“What was that?” Leon asks softly.

Merlin looks up at him, “A tracking spell.”

“And you didn’t think to do that earlier?”

“I didn’t think it would work. It only works on fixed locations and objects, or people I have met before. I hoped that by being with you I’d get lucky but…”

Leon sighs and pats Merlin on the shoulder, “You’re not to blame. If anything it’s my fault.”

“Leon.”

“No. I have to take responsibility.” Leon insists, “I should have stopped Morgana, or failing that I should have been able to look after Gwen.”

“You couldn’t have known that Morgana was going to betray you. She was a friend. That’s why the word betrayal exists. You wouldn’t say someone who was already an enemy betrayed you. It’s reserved for those closest to you that know how to hide from you.”

“You spout such wisdom, and you still think you would make a poor High Dragon Lord.” Leon jokes, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

“I work best in the shadows.” Merlin dismisses, “Don’t worry about Gwen. From what you’ve told me, she is tough and clever. She will be just fine.”

Leon nods, but doesn’t say anything in response.

“We’ll stop here tonight.” Merlin decides, “We’ll lose the light soon, and we’ll want to have a fire and blankets before that happens.”

Together they start a fire and lay out their bedding. Before they fall asleep that night, Merlin says, “If we have to retrace our way all the way to Camelot, we will. I won’t stop until we find her, I promise.”

He isn’t entirely sure that Leon finds that comforting. 

*

_Merlin… Merlin… Merlin! You asked me for this favor, Young Warlock, do not ignore me! MERLIN!_

Merlin startles awake, rubbing at his head. Kilgharrah has been shouting in his head since he was fourteen, but it hasn’t gotten any less disruptive.

_What is it? I’m sleeping._

_I have found her, Young Warlock_

_Found who?_

_The woman you call Gwen._

Merlin is wide awake at that. He sits upright in the tangle of blankets he and Leon are sharing, ignoring the cold that threatens to freeze his extremities.

_Are you sure?_

_I am sure. I heard her mention to the man she is with that she fled Camelot. She is not far from you._

_Where is she?_

_She is hiding in a cave a few miles east of you. You should reach her in under an hour._ With that, a rush of information enters Merlin’s mind. He knows the exact cave. He’s rarely ventured this far south, but he’s used it as shelter himself on the few times he has. He should have known to check there first.

_Thank you._

“Leon wake up!” Merlin says urgently.

Leon sits up and gets his sword in his hand before Merlin can even see him grab it, “What’s going on? Bandits?”

“No. Kilgharrah found Gwen.”

“Are you sure?”

“He said he heard her mention fleeing Camelot. I doubt there is anyone else fleeing this far north.”

“Even if it isn’t her, it still might be a citizen in need of shelter.”

Merlin has never packed a bag or saddled a horse so fast in his life. They set out at break neck speak, and it’s all Merlin can do to focus on the directions Kilgharrah imparted in his mind and keep the light held above their heads so their horses don’t injure themselves in an unexpected hole. Thankfully, Leon is too focused on getting there to attempt conversation. 

They’ve barely slowed at all outside the cave when Leon launches himself off of his horse’s back, shouting Gwen’s name.

The cave is low to the ground with only a few boulders in the front. Merlin knows for a fact that there is a path carved carefully through them for ease of entrance. The boulders are mostly there to make it look uninviting. Rumor has it a hermit used to live there.

“Gwen!” Leon shouts again.

A figure appears in the mouth of the cave. Then said figure lets out a cry of joy, and comes pelting at them across the grass. A young woman roughly Merlin’s age barrels straight into Leon’s arms. Her curly dark hair is wild and tangled with twigs in some places. There is a smear of dark earth or maybe ash across one of her cheeks. Other than her state of dishevelment, she is unharmed.

“It’s so good to see you.” She says, sounding like she might be tearing up, “How did you find me?”

“Long story.” Leon says ruefully, “Are you safe?”

Gwen nods, pulling back a little, “Lancelot helped me over the border. He has been watching my back ever since.” 

“Lancelot?”

“Oh, he said he was going to stay in the cave until he knew if it was safe. He wanted surprise attack if you were here to hurt me.” She explains, and turns to the mouth of the cave, “It’s alight! It’s him!”

Another figure, this one a man, emerges from the cave as well. He is of a build with Leon, but with dark hair and dark eyes. He approaches cautiously, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Thank you, for keeping her safe.” Leon says solemnly, holding a hand out for Lancelot to shake.

Lancelot releases the hilt of his sword with a pleased if shy smile, and shake Leon’s hand, “She had hand in her own survival.”

“I’m sure she did. She is one of the toughest people I know.” It’s amazing how it doesn’t sound the least bit patronizing, just honest and proud.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur. When you told me to go I just panicked and ran. I was so worried you were dead.”

“You did the right thing. Both of us ending up dead in that fight would have been pointless.”

“Wait.” Merlin interrupts, realizing, “Why did she call you Arthur? You told me your name was Leon.”

Leon turns to him, shoulders back, chin tilted proudly as if daring Merlin to try something, “My name is Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot.” He seems to deflate a bit at the title, even from his own mouth, “Or, I was, at least.”


End file.
